Six Months in Croydon
by orianna-2000
Summary: While investigating a mysterious village Rose finds herself stranded... And when the Doctor returns to find a local gentleman courting Rose, will he decide once and for all where his heart lies? Final chapter now up!
1. Of Candlelight and Fleas

_This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction based upon the television series _Doctor Who_. All related characters, places, and events, belong to the BBC, and Russell T. Davies, used without permission. This story, with all original content, belongs to the author, © 2007. Brief quote from _Pride and Prejudice_, which belongs to Jane Austen._

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_**Six Months in Croydon**_  
by Orianna2000 

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Chapter One – **_**Of Candlelight and Fleas**_

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Rose jerked her leg. She'd felt something—she knew she'd felt something. Again, a tickle against her skin. With a high-pitched squeak of annoyance, she threw the sheet back. The moonlight streaming in through the attic window cast a web of shadows across her bed. She couldn't see anything in particular, aside from her breath in the air, but that didn't mean she'd imagined it.

A candle sat on the small wooden table beside the bed, secure in a brass holder. Beside it Rose found a number of loose matches, the sort you could strike against anything. She winced as the match ignited with an unusually loud sound. Mindful of the flammable materials around her, she held it to the top of the candle until the wick caught and began burning.

Another prick against her leg. She kicked the remaining blankets away in a panic and grabbed the candle. It didn't provide much more light than the moon, but she could move the candle to have a better view of the shadows.

A dark speck. No, several of them. She leaned forward, peering with suspicion. One hopped away and she yelped. Before she knew she'd moved, Rose found herself standing on the other side of the room, far from the vermin-infested bed.

While muttering dark things, she snagged the top blanket from the bed, shook it several times, and then wrapped it around her shoulders. The polished wood floor felt cold to her feet, but she didn't want to take the time to find her shoes. Besides, trainers would look decidedly odd with the long white nightgown their hosts had graciously provided her with.

Candle in hand, Rose opened the bedroom door. It squeaked, but not loudly enough for anyone to notice. She doubted anyone else slept up here, anyway. The way the attic ceiling slanted there couldn't have been room for another bedroom.

Though she couldn't hear any activity in the house below, she crept down the narrow stairs as quietly as possible. Each step sent shivers down her spine, and she held her breath every time her foot pressed against a board that creaked. Not that she distrusted their hosts, but she hated to explore strange houses in the middle of the night with nothing but a lone candle for illumination. What she wouldn't give for a torch!

Finally she reached a landing. The staircase turned and continued on to the lower level, its banister carved and far more ornate than the thin railing she'd held onto the whole way down. What she sought lay on this floor. Just across the hallway a bit of light escaped from beneath a closed door. Grimacing, she adjusted the blanket around her shoulders and without knocking, she opened the door.

A startled Doctor looked up from the desk in one corner. A gas lamp above the desk illuminated several books and an open journal. The Doctor set his pen down and looked her up and down. His mouth opened and closed twice before he finally said, "Rose?"

"'Be friendly', you said. 'Blend in with the natives.' No bloody thank you!" She closed the door behind her and gave the Doctor her best indignant glare. "Not when the natives share their beds with... with..."

"With... what? Rose, what's the matter?"

He stood, and Rose realized that he'd taken his jacket off and had been working in his shirtsleeves. That gave her pause, but an itch on her calf reminded her of her purpose.

"Vermin!" she hissed.

"I beg your pardon?" He looked hurt.

She made a face. "The bed. _My_ bed. _In_ my bed!"

"This is a very nice house, Rose. It's clean and warm. Look, the maid even turned down the bed for me."

Rose stared at the large four poster bed on the other side of the room. The white counterpane had lace trim and showed no signs of any fleas or ants or bedbugs. "That bed is as big as my entire room," she protested.

The Doctor pulled on one ear. "Oh. Well, I suppose that's the morality of the time. I'm the wealthy landowner, lord and master, you see. You're just my... err. Well, never mind that. It could be that they weren't expecting company. They've probably only got the one guest room, after all."

"I'm your _what_, Doctor? So help me, if you told 'em I'm your servant..."

"Oh! No, no, no. Of course not. What, d'you think I have a death wish? I told them I'm your guardian, that's all.

Rose raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. The blanket slipped off her shoulder.

"Well, it was either that or your husband, and I didn't think you'd appreciate my taking the liberty."

"I'd rather be your _wife_ than your _daughter_!"

"Right. Well, technically, you're more like a niece or younger sister. I didn't go into specifics, so you can polish the story to your, uh, own satisfaction. How's that?"

She shook her head. "Why couldn't I just have been your travelling companion? Surely people travelled together in the Dark Ages."

"It isn't the Dark Ages! Not by... oh, several centuries, at least, assuming we're on Earth. In this period, women were still second-class citizens, though. No lady would dream of going anywhere without other female companionship. If she's in the company of a man, he's either a close relative or her husband. I didn't want to raise their suspicions. After all, they were good enough to believe that your dress had met with tragic circumstances in the bog and that's why you were wearing men's clothing. Couldn't expect them to deal with much more than that, could we?"

"They took my jeans. My favourite pair! And you say it's not the Dark Ages?"

"From what I've seen, it's appears to be somewhere around the beginning of Earth's nineteenth century. Which might as well have been the Dark Ages as far as you're concerned," he conceded. "Look, they've got nice fireplaces. Gas lighting, very effective. Even a loo! Bit modern that."

Rose glared at him.

"You don't find all this a little strange?" he asked.

"What's strange about it? Eighteen hundreds. Gas lights, check." She gestured to her nightgown, whose hem reached the floor "No skin allowed to show, check. Fleas in my bed, _check_! I've been to the Victorian era and I remember how primitive it was."

The Doctor raised a finger. "Actually, this seems a bit before Victoria's time. More like the Regency period, I'd say. No later than eighteen-twenty, probably closer to eighteen-ten. Oi! What are you doing?"

She threw the covers of his bed back and inspected the clean white sheets. "Not a bug in sight."

"Oh, right. You said something about vermin...?"

"My bed is crawling with fleas or bedbugs or something equally disgusting."

"Really?"

"D'you think I'm making this up?" Rose put one foot up on the bed and yanked the hem of her nightgown up to her knee. "Look!"

The Doctor put his glasses on and bent forward to examine Rose's leg. Clinically, his gaze swept across the soft knob of her ankle, up the curve of her calf, and lingered at her knee, where thin white muslin obscured the rest of her leg. After a moment, Rose cleared her throat.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Right." He looked closer and noticed a sprinkling of red, swollen dots that marred the creamy smoothness of her leg. Lightly, he ran a finger across her skin. "Something's bitten you."

"Really?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "I hadn't noticed."

He straightened and removed his glasses. "Your body temperature must be attractive to the local insect population. I'm sure it's nothing to do with the cleanliness of their housekeeper."

"No? Willing to put that to the test?"

Before he could answer, Rose sat down on his bed with an enthusiastic bounce.

"Rose." One hand snaked around the back of his neck, betraying his nervousness. He glanced toward the door.

"Oh, c'mon. S'not as if you'll actually be sleeping."

His mouth opened and his eyes betrayed a mixture of shock and panic.

"You _never_ sleep," she continued, rolling her eyes at his misinterpretation, "And if you're not using this wonderful, _clean_ bed, then you might as well let me."

"Rose, if you're caught in here... This time period isn't exactly known for its leniency and open minds."

"You can tell 'em that we switched rooms, if y'like. I don't care. But I'm not going back to that flea-ridden cupboard they put me in."

"All right, fine. But move over."

Rose lifted her head from the soft pillow and blinked at the Doctor. "'scuse me?"

"Move over." He sat beside her and nudged her with his hip.

Quick to oblige, Rose shifted over to the middle of the bed. The Doctor settled into the spot she'd vacated, leaning back against the headboard. When he began talking, she tried to be annoyed, but the combination of not having insects nibbling at her legs and actually sharing a bed with the Doctor made it impossible to stay upset.

"The thing is," he said, "For all intents and purposes, this looks like a turn of the century village."

"Innit, then?"

"It shouldn't be. Just before we landed, the coordinates were for a small planet at the edge of a dwarf galaxy. We should be a lot farther from home than two hundred years."

"Maybe we landed somewhere else," she mumbled, squirming to get comfortable. "Or maybe the coordinates were wrong. S'not like it's never happened before."

"Hmm. The TARDIS is getting old, poor girl. Could be she just got the numbers wrong. Or maybe something pulled us somewhere else just before we materialized. We were picking up a faint signal of some kind, possibly a distress beacon." He reached over and pulled the counterpane up over Rose's shoulder. "Still, something's a bit odd. I just can't place it. What was it the lady of the house said when we arrived? They weren't 'expecting extras'?"

"I thought she meant they already had guests."

"Could be. I didn't see anyone else, but a place like this, people tend to go to bed early, save on gas or candlelight. You know, the TARDIS' scans indicated a small village nearby. Let's go exploring tomorrow, shall we?"

But Rose had already fallen asleep.

-oo-O-oo-

She woke to the smells of fresh, yeasty bread, potatoes, oatmeal, and something that smelled remarkably like bacon. She supposed that alien worlds must have alien pigs, so why not alien bacon? That is, unless the coordinates were wrong and they had landed on Earth after all. As often as the Doctor got things wrong, she wouldn't be at all surprised.

"Good morning," called a woman's voice. A knock on the door immediately followed.

Rose pulled the blanket up to her chest just as the lady of the house walked in bearing a breakfast tray.

"Pardon, m'lady. The Doctor said as you weren't an early riser," she said cheerfully. "But between him and my two lads, if I didn't bring you something now, there'd be none left when you came down. That Doctor of yours can surely tuck away his food! I'm Mrs Morris, by the way—you can call me Ella—and did you sleep comfortably?"

Before Rose could even begin to answer, Mrs Morris set the tray across her lap, handed her a napkin, and continued to talk. "As soon as he came downstairs this morning, the Doctor explained how he'd given you his room, seeing as it's more fit for a lady. Why didn't you say anything last night? I'd no idea we were housing gentry! I hope you don't mind my bringing your breakfast myself, but I didn't think it fitting to have one of the servants wait on you."

Rose looked at the plate of warm scones dripping with honey. The incredible scent made her mouth water and words hard to form. She vaguely recognized some sort of irony in what Mrs Morris had said, but beyond that her mind blanked. She watched as the woman arranged pitchers of tea and milk on the small table beside the bed then finally said, "S'cuse me, did you say 'gentry'?"

"Oh, begging your pardon. I know you don't want it widely known, but I won't tell a soul. That Doctor of yours told me the same as he said that I'd find you in his room this morning, and a good thing he did, too. Otherwise we'd have quite the scandal, here!" She paused and tilted her head, her eyes twinkling. "To tell you truly, I don't know which would be more exciting, an indiscretion, if you catch my meaning, or the fact that we've a true lady staying under our roof!"

"What d'you mean, a lady?" Rose couldn't help taking a bite of a scone. As she chewed, Mrs Morris stared at her, the pot of tea in one hand and the other on her hip. And then Rose realized: Dame Rose Tyler, so honoured by Queen Victoria herself. Of course, if this truly happened to be England of the Regency era, then Victoria would not take the throne for several decades. But that wouldn't matter to a man who lived outside of time itself. Trust the Doctor to come up with a good explanation for a simple matter such as swapping rooms.

"Never mind," she said quickly. "I'm just not awake yet."

"Of course. You must be used to lying in every morning. I _am_ sorry to wake you so early, it's just like I said, though—if I didn't bring your breakfast now, there'd be none left! Is he family, this Doctor of yours?" Mrs Morris asked. She poured a cup of tea and then hesitated with the milk pitcher. "And how do you take your morning tea, m'lady?"

"Oh, just a bit of milk, thanks. But you really don't have to do all this for me. I'm used to fixing for myself."

"That may be when you're out and about with the Doctor, but shall I let it be said that Elizabeth Bridie Morris let such a distinguished guest serve her own breakfast? I'd be shamed out of the village, m'lady."

Right. Well then... "At the very least will you call me Rose, then? I'm not used to all this fuss, really."

"A beautiful name, indeed! We've a rose garden in the summertime, you know. Of course, they're all but died off now, but if you stay long enough, you'll see. There you are, Lady Rose." She handed over the milky tea, and then lifted the lids off plates of bacon, fried potatoes, thick slices of bread, and a bowl of cinnamon apples. Rose inhaled deeply in appreciation, and Mrs Morris continued, "I wondered if he was an older cousin, perhaps?"

"Who?" Guilty as she felt at being served like this, Rose couldn't resist any longer. She snagged a piece of bacon.

"The Doctor, of course. He said he was your guardian, but I couldn't help wondering what the relation is. He's much too young to be your father or uncle, isn't he?"

"You'd be surprised." Rose smirked and took a sip of tea. It tasted like any other breakfast tea, except that it left a bitter after-taste on her tongue—something she'd come to associate with foods grown on alien worlds. But the generous dollop of honey and milk sweetened the flavour, and it went well with the apples. When it became apparent that the strictures of a small town with little news or gossip would not allow her to keep quiet, she searched her mind for something to say. "The Doctor. He's... well, a doctor. Travels a lot, but always makes time to stop by London for a visit. My mum loved him, she did. Like part of the family. We travel together, now."

"Oh, and a good man he is! I could see it in his eyes. He'll move heaven and earth to keep you safe, that one. Can I get you anything else, Lady Rose?"

Rose shook her head, then remembered some needs that would soon become urgent. "Wait, the Doctor said you had all the necessary facilities...?"

"Of course. The loo's in the closet there, and I'll have the maid bring up hot water for you to have a wash. You'll be needing some clothes, of course, and things for your hair. What a shame you lost your carriage in the moor. That land's devilled, I tell you. Gets larger every year! Some day the entire village will be swallowed up whole." She tutted and began clearing away the empty plates.

-oo-O-oo-

Rose washed and dressed as quickly as she could. There were several layers, as she'd expected, but they weren't as constrictive as she remembered Victorian clothes being. In fact, they were comfortable and even somewhat flattering. Instead of her bra, which she'd wrapped in a pillowcase and hidden in one of the desk drawers, she buttoned on a snug tunic that provided the necessary support. It looked very much like a soft corset with rows of vertical cording to shape it, rather than stiff boning.

Over that went a petticoat, something like a sun dress with a very high waist and a full skirt. The white fabric had a slight musty smell, as though it had been folded in a trunk for many years, but it fit well and Rose adored the pretty rows of pin-tucks and embroidery on the lower half of the skirt. All hand sewn, it must have taken someone hours. Years ago, her grandmother had tried to teach her the art of needlepoint, but she'd always lacked the patience. Even the actual dress had delicate embroidery along the neckline and the edges of the long sleeves.

"Oh, doesn't that fit you well," said Mrs Morris from the doorway. She smiled, forming tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. "That shade of pink suits you, Lady Rose, it does."

"You don't have to call me that, you know. I'm not used to it. Just 'Rose' is fine, really."

"And how else is anyone to know your status? A lady you are, and a lady I'll be calling you," she said. "Here, now. I've brought some things for you."

She pushed aside a stack of books and set a stand-up mirror on the desk, along with a silver backed hairbrush and comb set, and a small jar. "There. Now, let me see you."

Rose turned from the small mirror, feeling naked without her usual cosmetics. She tugged at the dress, unused to the high waistline. It came just below her bust, and the neckline scooped down to expose quite a lot of her bosom. "Are you sure this is right? Maybe I've put it on wrong."

"It looks fine. You just need a kerchief for modesty's sake. Here, let me." She shook out a gauzy piece of fabric, then folded it into a large triangle and settled it across Rose's shoulders. Rose's cheeks turned the same shade as her dress as Mrs Morris adjusted the scarf, blithely tucking the edges under the neckline. "There you are. If you're going to stay, we'll have the village dressmaker sew a set of dresses for you. Meanwhile, there's the ball tomorrow night. I think my daughter had a silk gown that would fit you. I'll go through her wardrobe and see, shall I? It's only a rehearsal, of course, but you never know when an overseer might attend. His word can demote our village to a hamlet or promote us to a small town, so the entire village will turn up in their best. "

Rose frowned as Mrs Morris gestured for her to sit. "What, d'you mean someone can come in and make people leave their homes?"

"Of course not! If the village is reduced, who would _want_ to stay?" She picked the hairbrush from the desk and began running it though Rose's hair, gently removing the night's tangles. "We're doing well, since the Harris family moved in. Their daughter Betty has a fine voice, and the eldest son dances elegant enough for London. A credit to us, they are."

She pulled a wide ribbon from her pocket and tied it around Rose's head to hold her hair back. "That'll do, I think. Does it please you, m'lady?"

Rose sighed and gave up the idea of _not_ being a member of the gentry. She would get even with the Doctor, though.

Lady Rose, indeed!

_(To Be Continued...)_

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**_Author's Notes:_**_ This story was written as a gift for **Nohwrah**, as part of the Summer Lovin' Ficathon. It contains nine chapters total, which will be posted regularly.__  
As _Doctor Who_ is a British phenomenon, this story uses British spelling and grammar__—__at least, as far as is possible for an American writer.  
Special thanks go to my patient and inspiring beta-reader, **Little Zink**, whose support made this story possible._

_**Edited to Add:** You have my apologies__—__I accidentally posted the un-betaed versions of the first two chapters. This has now been corrected!  
_


	2. Of Hatpins and Pounds

**Chapter Two – _Of Hatpins and Pounds_**

Rose stood at the foot of the stairs and wondered if lunch would be as mind-bogglingly delicious as breakfast. The high-waisted dress she wore let her get away with eating more than she normally would. Once they left this place, she would have to go on a diet! No chips for awhile, but it would be worth it, with food as good they cooked here.

She hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, seeing three different doorways and one bare arch exiting off the short hallway. One door seemed heavier than the others, so she deemed it the front door. Of their hostess or the Doctor she saw no sign, but she could hear people talking somewhere ahead. A door off to one side proved to be a parlour. As she approached, the voices drifted out.

"I refuse to bow to some stranger who happened to show up in the middle of the night," a woman said, shrilly. "I don't care if their carriage did break down outside our village, it doesn't mean that she gets to take over!"

"Your aunt says that she is a lady, come all the way from London," replied a man's voice.

"Lady or no, I've _earned_ my place and I'll not give it up."

"Yes, and we all know _how_ you earned it, do we not?" He laughed cruelly. "At any rate, perhaps they won't stay long. It may only be through the rehearsal."

"And suppose they decide to stay longer? Suppose they _settle down_ here? She'll demand the role by right of rank and what'll I do then?"

Rose frowned, a nauseating chill running through her. They had to be talking about her, but she would never take something belonging to someone else, even under the guise of being a lady. And she certainly didn't want any of the locals upset with her.

"Ah, Rose! There you are."

She felt a flood of relief at the Doctor's greeting. The voices in the parlour immediately quieted. "Good morning, Doctor. I'd ask how you slept but I know better."

He grinned and in that moment she knew that everything would be all right.

"Take a look at you! Gone native, have we?" He walked all the way around her, inspecting her dress.

"Considering how the bog ate my luggage..." She made a face at the Doctor, "I'm lucky that Mrs Morris had anything in my size."

"Maybe I should hide your jeans and hoodies more often, if this is the result."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"No? Oh, but look at you! All soft and pink." He grinned. "Very ladylike."

"I look like something out of _Pride and Prejudice_." She crossed her arms, realized the effect that had on her already raised bosom, then dropped them back to her sides.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "You've read Jane Austen?"

"It was a _film_." She sighed and relented, "All right, I was supposed to read it for English Studies but I couldn't get past the first few chapters. Shireen and I rented the two-part series on video. Got us both a passing grade, at least."

"Oh, I imagine it would. Best not mention that here, though." He lowered his voice briefly. "They don't seem to have tellies! Oh! Did you hear there's gonna be a dance tomorrow? We're invited, of course."

She frowned. "Yeah, Mrs Morris said something about it being a rehearsal, but she didn't say what for. D'you suppose they're having a wedding?"

"No one said anything about that. Just your typical small-town ball, I'd imagine. Lots of women desperate for the chance to show off their dancing ability and social skills, and of course, their... uh... décolletage. Plus, lots of men desperate to be allowed to touch women in public."

"Sounds scandalous!"

"Not really," he said, not catching her sarcasm. "After all, when a glimpse of a woman's ankle is the equivalent of, say, a modern woman taking her shirt off and flashing someone, then it's understandable that the men would enjoy the opportunity to be able to grasp a woman's hand for a length of time, and if they're really lucky, to hold her arm. It's the equivalent of making love in public! Of course, the whole thing is merely a set-up for the single ladies to find husbands. The married women miss out on all the intrigue."

"That so? Sounds like fun." Rose smiled and kept her voice casual. "You taking me?"

"What, me? No, of course not." He backed away, scratching the back of his neck. "I really should get back to the TARDIS, try to find out exactly where we are."

"Innit obvious? Seems like the early eighteen-hundreds to me."

"You'd think, wouldn't you? But I'm not convinced. There's something a bit off about all this." He waved a hand around. "Haven't you noticed?"

She took a step toward him, the soles of her borrowed shoes whispering on the hardwood floor. "Well then, this is your chance to investigate, yeah? Go to the ball, talk to the men, listen to conversations..."

"Rose Tyler, are you suggesting that I eavesdrop?" He paused and his eyes lit up. "Not a bad idea, that."

"That mean you're taking me?" She grinned and took another step forward, cornering him against a low table. He leaned against it and fingered a vase filled with cut flowers.

"Would you look at that! I don't recognize these. They remind me a bit of... but, no, it can't be. The number of stamens is wrong and the petals aren't quite the right shape." He pulled out his glasses, slipped them on, and leaned over to examine the flowers.

Rose cleared her throat.

"Hm? Oh, right. We were talking, weren't we? What was I saying?"

"You were about to say that you'd take me to this ball."

"What ball? Oh, tomorrow night, you mean! No! No, no. You wouldn't want to go to something like that, would you? All those people hanging around, gossiping, matchmaking..." He pulled one of the flowers from the vase.

"Dancing?"

"Well, yes, that too. Otherwise they wouldn't call it a dance, would they? They'd have to call it a _chitchat_ or a _gabfest_ or something of the sort. You're much too clever to go along with that sort of thing—be bored out of your mind."

"Are you serious? I'd _die_ to go to a real ball. That's the sort of thing you read about or see on the telly. If Mum finds out, she'll have kittens. You _have_ to take me!"

The Doctor glanced up from the large white flower. "Yes, well... I suppose I could go with you, gather some intelligence, like you said. That is, not _with_ you, but just so you wouldn't be alone. That be all right?"

She tried not to sigh as her heart sank. The Doctor had danced with her once, in his previous incarnation. She'd never forgotten that evening of laughter, carefree joy, and reckless flirting. Since his regeneration, she'd tried to pin down his feelings for her but failed utterly. How could she figure him out when his attitudes changed in the blink of an eye? She'd grown used to it, but she didn't like how he would tease and flirt with her one minute and then shut himself away the next and act like he wanted nothing to do with lowly humans.

Rose nodded to the Doctor's query and decided that she would take whatever she could get. For now.

-oo-O-oo-

"Care to go for a walk?" the Doctor asked Rose. "I'd like to see if I can find more of these flowers. They're not wilted yet, so they must grow around here somewhere."

"Going out? What a wonderful idea," Mrs Morris said, glancing up from her corner. "Take my Etta with you. She knows the gardens better than anyone, and she can take you into the village if you like."

Rose stood and shook her long skirts out. "Might be nice to get out for a bit. Is there anything nearby? Shops or such?"

"Market's about two kilometres away, edge of the village. Oh, you'll like it, Lady Rose. Might not be as sophisticated as the shops in London, but we've a fine seamstress and milliner's shop, a grocery run by Mrs Fairfax, a trinket stall that has things from all over, an excellent woodcarver, oh, and the cobbler. You'd best stop by there and put a pair of shoes on order, so you'll have some as fit your own feet. Nothing worse than walking around in someone else's shoes, is there?"

"Oh, I don't think we're gonna stay long enough for that," Rose began, but the Doctor cleared his throat. She looked at him. "What? We're not... are we?"

He found a place that itched behind his ear. "I did say we wouldn't stay long, didn't I? But it turns out... well, I didn't want to say anything, but you remember that, er, rather remarkable jolt when our... er, _carriage_... stopped?"

"Our _carriage_ always jolts when we stop, Doctor." She smiled sweetly.

"Right. So it does. Well, in particular, I mean the one that caused you to fall on your backside with a loud sort of groaning sound. The _carriage_ that is, not you. You made more of a surprised squeak than anything else. How is that bruise, by the way? Better?"

"The condition of my backside is none of your business! Cheeky git." She accepted a large brimmed bonnet from Mrs Morris and slapped it onto her head.

"Yes. Well, as it turns out, that particular jolt caused rather a lot of damage to the... er, wheel axle. Take a bit of repair, it will."

She attempted to tie the ribbon into a bow beneath her chin. "Caused a rather lot of damage to my backside, so it did. How long?"

"For a bruise like that to heal? Hard to say since you won't let me examine it," he said with a wink at Mrs Morris to ease the scandal of his remark. "You're in good health, though, so assuming you didn't damage the muscle or fracture your coccyx, any bruising should fade in a matter of days, no more than a week. If it really does bother you, let me know. I've got an... err, an ointment, I can give you. _Sonicus screwdriverius_. Always does the trick, that one."

He paused, watching her attempt to tie the ribbons on the bonnet. "Having trouble with that, are we? Here, you need to just..." He pointed and tried to direct her efforts, which quickly ended in a tangle of silk ribbon. "Let me, will you?"

He smoothed out the ribbons and retied them into a perfect bow that dangled on her chest. "It's the style, so don't complain that I've gone and done it wrong. Besides, contrary to what you might think, the ribbon isn't what keeps the hat on your head. Most ladies use hat pins."

"I haven't got a hat pin, and if I had, I'd use it on you! How long?"

"Oh, about eight inches. Nine, maybe." He held out his fingers to demonstrate the length of a hat pin.

"Not the bloody hat pin!" She ground her teeth and tried to remind herself that getting upset would solve nothing. She chose her words carefully. "How long until we can get moving again?"

"Oh, that." He shrugged. "Few days, give or take a week. Depends on what parts I can find. Fortunately, our kind and generous hostess has allowed us to store the _carriage_ in her stables, whilst I effect repairs. Mrs Morris, did I hear you mention a smithy amid all those shops in town?"

"No, sir, you did not, though you may as well have. We've a fine blacksmith, just up the road from the grocer and across from the pub." She fixed a hat pin firmly through the crown of the bonnet, securing it to Rose's head.

"There's a pub?" Rose's crankiness vanished.

"Wouldn't be a proper village without, now would it?" Mrs Morris smiled. "In fact, I'm sure the good Doctor will enjoy a pint of our local brew whilst you're busy shopping."

The good Doctor himself mumbled something that sounded rather like, "It would take more than just one pint to get me to enjoy a day's shopping." But of course, he made an innocent face when Rose narrowed her eyes at him.

"Shall we?" He opened the front door and escorted Rose outside.

A glorious day greeted them. The sun shone brightly down from a cloudless sky. A gentle breeze brought the scents of wood smoke and hay. Though only a few flowers now bloomed in the garden, many of the bushes had leaves of orange and yellow with clusters of red berries tucked away here and there. Little birds hopped across the path in front of them and squirrels dove under piles of dried leaves.

Rose turned her head up to the sky and sighed. The Doctor glanced over at her.

"You all right? Seemed a bit... out of sorts, back there. We didn't choose the wrong time to... er, crash here, did we? And if we did, I don't want to know about it. I'm sure Mrs Morris can handle whatever you need," he added quickly.

"Must be," she said, although it wasn't anywhere near her time of the month. It was easier to accept the embarrassment of _that_ than to admit the true reason for her crankiness. If the Doctor wanted to pretend that he had no particular regard for her, other than as a travelling companion, then she would pretend that she felt the exact same way. No use begging him to say he loved her, because he wouldn't, and then things would get more and more awkward between them, until he dropped her off home and found someone who _wouldn't_ develop a schoolgirl crush on him.

"Oh!" came the shout from behind them. "Etta! Do wait up."

Mrs Morris came running out of the house—more of a cottage, now that they could see it in the daylight, made of grey stone with ivy growing along the cracks—waving a small bag. Etta had been following the Doctor and Rose silently, and she now stopped and turned to wait for Mrs Morris.

"I nearly forgot. Since you're going into the village anyway, won't you stop at the butcher? I put in the order last week and forgot to pick it up yesterday. I promised the committee that we'd bring some beef pies to the dance, you see," she said to the Doctor. From the bag she pulled two strips of thick silver. "Now, here's two pounds. If it costs more than that, ask Mr Thomas to put the rest on our bill, but there should be enough left over so that you can stop at the baker's and have yourself some of those little cakes you like. Buy some for the Doctor and Lady Rose, too, there's a good girl."

After Mrs Morris had gone back into the house, the Doctor gestured to Etta. "May I see those? Bit different from the pounds we use in London."

He examined the small strips with interest. Although about the same size as a British one pound note, these were made of plain silvery metal, and each bore an incised mark that read "one pound". The Doctor made a face of curiosity and hefted them in his palm. "Just about two pounds, I'd say."

"What, d'you mean the two pounds—"

"—Actually weigh two pounds, yes. Fascinating, yeah?"

"But I read about that in history, didn't I?" she asked, forgetting to guard her words. "They're called British Pounds Sterling because they used to be worth a pound of silver each."

"Yes, quite true. But that was... oh, way back in the thirteenth century, before the monarchy began mucking about with the banking system. They diluted the pound with base metals little by little until in your day there isn't a single drop of silver in the one-pound coin."

"You mean when we have a bank note that says 'one pound sterling'..."

"In the old days you could take that to any Bank of England and exchange it for actual silver or gold. But in your time? Not a chance. That's the trouble with a paper money system—so long as people believe their little pieces of paper are worth something, well then, they are! But if anyone starts to doubt it or, god forbid, should panic, the whole thing falls apart like a castle built of straw. Throw in inflation, so that a loaf of bread used to be worth so many pennies, but it's now only worth half as many even though it's exactly the same loaf of bread, and you're setting yourself up for a lot of trouble. That's what started the Sterling riots of 2207 and 2214 and eventually led to the downfall of the so-called civilised world and the rise of the New Roman Empire."

He idly handed the two pounds back to Etta, then shoved his hands into his overcoat's pockets and continued to talk as they walked slowly up the path. "It all began innocently enough, with one pound of wheat seeds being the base of trade. They standardized it and eventually changed wheat seeds into sterling silver. Then the King—Edward the first, that is—decided to stretch the dollar, so to speak, by using his one pound of silver to make more than the usual amount of pennies. Over the years, his successors did the same, until the silver content wasn't even a third what it used to be. Then they did away with it altogether and now everyone just trades imaginary money back and forth. Bit silly if you ask me. What, we here already?"

"Looks like," Rose said, peering out from the brim of her straw bonnet. A number of small stone and brick buildings sat on either side of the road, just ahead. "Good time, too. My feet are killing me. Have you ever tried to walk in a pair of shoes that have no left or rights?"

"Blimey, we _can't_ be!" He glanced back down the path they came up. "It's just been a few minutes since we left the cottage and we haven't been walking that fast. Didn't Mrs Morris say it was two kilometres to the edge of the village?"

"Just over," Etta said with a soft voice.

"Yet here we are," he said, astounded. "But this doesn't make any sense."

"Well, you're the one who likes impossible things," Rose replied.

"I suppose now you'll believe me when I tell you something strange is going on here?"

"Something strange is always going on wherever we are, Doctor. S'like you're that character from 'Peanuts'... the one with the little rain cloud always over his head."

"M'not." He pouted, just a bit. "I don't carry around a security blanket, either."

"Oh, no?" Rose grinned.

"Rose Tyler, my sonic screwdriver is _not_ a security blanket! I'm insulted at the very idea. How many times have I gotten you out of whatever scrape you've gotten yourself into by..." He stopped, remembering the presence of Etta. Clearing his throat, he sized up the buildings ahead. "Never mind. Looks like your trinket shop over there. I'll be at the blacksmith, but by the time you're done shopping, you'll probably find me in the pub."

_(To Be Continued...)_


	3. Of Bedtime Stories and Balls

**Chapter Three – **_**Of Bedtime Stories and Balls  
**_

The sun was just setting by the time Rose and the Doctor entered the path that led through the cottage's garden. Etta had already gone ahead with the things Rose had bought on credit at the store.

"Don't forget to pay those merchants before we leave," she reminded him.

"Not a problem. I'll analyse the residue of those two pounds Etta so graciously let me hold for a moment." He rubbed his fingers together. "Should be able to find a comparable metal on the TARDIS that I can melt down."

Rose turned to him, worrying at her bottom lip. "You wouldn't take anything she needed, would you? I'd hate to think of you melting off bits of your ship just to pay my shopping bills."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd sooner run off than take anything vital. Though I'd hate to leave those honest folk waiting for their money. How much did you buy, anyway? I thought you were just picking up a few bits and bobs to take home to your mother."

"You did say we could be here awhile. Mrs Morris has been awfully nice already, putting us up and letting me borrow her daughter's clothes." She eyed him speculatively. "I don't suppose we'll see you in anything out of the ordinary tomorrow night?"

"Oi! You speculating about what I sleep in, Rose Tyler?"

She coughed, startled into choking on her own saliva. He pounded her on the back but she waved him away. When she could speak again, she sputtered, "I meant what you'd be wearing to the dance! I'll be getting all dressed up, seems only fair that you wear something historical, too."

"Ah, but I rarely need to," he pointed out. "A suit's a suit, even if it's not quite the same as what everyone else is wearing."

"I think they're wearing knee breeches and velvet coats."

"And how d'you know that?"

"Saw it in the film." She grinned. "Lots of handsome gentlemen all showing off their legs."

"Not a chance!"

"Oh, but c'mon. Where's your sense of adventure, Doctor?"

"You trying to have a look at my legs?"

"Just trying to get you to play fair, s'all."

"I see. Oh, would you look at that!" He knelt at the side of the path, where several tall white flowers grew. "There you are. Let's see what sort of species you are, then."

He slipped his glasses on, glanced about to see if anyone other than Rose was watching, and pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket. With a press of the button, a high-pitched squeal filled the air and a bright blue light shone onto the flower. He scanned the petals, the leaves, and even the soil around the base of the flowers, then tucked the screwdriver back into an inner pocket of his coat.

"Well? What's the verdict?"

"Not any plant I've ever encountered. Certainly not terrestrial. The base DNA code's all wrong. Wherever we are, it's not Earth," he said grimly.

"But that doesn't make any sense. Why else would they talk about London, and use pounds, and so on?"

He stood. "_That _ is precisely what we need to find out. C'mon. Let's go inside."

-oo-O-oo-

After dinner everyone gathered in the parlour. Mrs Morris apologized that her son wasn't at home, but explained that he had private rehearsals to make in preparation for the ball. Then she sat in her large rocking chair and pulled a fine wooden box onto her lap. Everyone, which included the cook, the maid, the groom, and Etta, quieted and watched with reverence. The Doctor and Rose looked on with curiosity.

Mrs Morris opened the box to reveal a velvet-lined interior and an ancient leather-bound book. It had gilt lettering on the cover, but she opened it too quickly for either the Doctor or Rose to make out the title.

"We will continue with chapter sixteen," Mrs Morris said. And she began to read.

The Doctor closed his eyes. Occasionally his lips moved in unison with the words, but mostly he just listened.

Afterwards, everyone went their private ways. The Doctor followed Rose up to her room. As she unwound the ribbon from her hair, he sat on the bed with a thoughtful expression.

"I know that look," Rose said with a sigh. "It means we're gonna end up running for our lives very shortly."

"What? No, no, no. Of course not. Why should we?"

"How should I know? But I hate it when you get that look."

"What look? What're you talking about?"

She stood in front of him and traced her fingers across his face, dipping first into the crevice just above the bridge of his nose, then following the shallow dent above one eyebrow, and finally tapping the dimple beside his mouth. "These. These are what I'm talking about. Every time I see you looking like this, all pensive like, trouble follows, yeah?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm only considering the evidence. Trying to add it all up in my head."

"Exactly! Every time you connect the dots, we end up running for our lives."

"Not this time," he promised. "But you should have some sleep. Days and nights are shorter here, haven't you noticed? Best you get to bed early. There's that dance tomorrow, don't forget. I'll mingle about; see what else I can learn."

"It's that book, yeah?" She paused while unbuttoning her dress. "You figured something out because of that novel Mrs Morris was reading us."

"Could be. You need some help with all those?" He gestured to the long row of buttons that she had been struggling to undo. "Bit silly to put so many buttons down the back of a dress, innit? How on earth are you supposed to get in and out of your clothes?"

She turned so her back faced him and he began undoing them one by one. After a moment of silence, she said, "So? What is it? This book, I mean."

"Oh, didn't you recognize it? I thought you might've."

"It was a bit boring, going on and on about the stupidest things, I thought."

The Doctor made an uncommitted noise. "Books that old tend to do that. Modern readers are accustomed to films and telly, everything happening fast, one thing after another. Back before such things, people liked to take their time to enjoy the story, to explore the subtleties and motives and not have everything spelled out for them right away. There you are, all unbuttoned. Wait, there's another dress underneath? How many dresses have you got on, anyway?"

She turned around and made a face at him. "Too many. Victorian, remember? An ankle is erotic!"

His face turned just a bit red at that, in memory of the way he'd examined her leg the night before. "No more bug bites, I trust?"

"Not a one, thank you."

"Good. Then I'll leave you to finish dressing for bed. See you in the morning, yeah?"

"'Night, Doctor."

"Goodnight, Rose."

-oo-O-oo-

Contrary to his promise, she didn't see him the next morning.

"The Doctor? I think he said something about fixing your carriage," Mrs Morris said, upon bringing Rose her breakfast. "I offered the services of our groom, but he said he'd rather do it himself."

"That's like him. Doesn't trust anyone else with his carriage."

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Lady Rose?" She sat on the edge of the bed when Rose nodded. "It's none of my business, I know. But it seems as though you and the Doctor... well, that you have affection for each other beyond the strictures of a guardian and ward. I might dare to even say that you're in love with one another, if you wouldn't take offence."

Rose promptly swallowed a mouthful of egg-dipped toast before she'd finished chewing it. She coughed a bit and turned red in the face.

"Oh, please don't be upset." Mrs Morris handed her a cup of tea. "I couldn't help but notice. It's more than obvious."

"Yeah. To everyone but him," Rose answered quietly. She sipped the tea to soothe her throat.

"I wouldn't say that. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not aware. He knows his heart full well, I'd say. But something's holding him back from saying."

"He's like that. One day I'll think I know exactly how he thinks and feels, and the next it's like he's another person, all closed off and hidden." She played with her fork, pushing around the remaining eggs on her plate. "He was hurt a long time ago. Really bad. Lost his family, his home, everything. I'm all he's got now."

"And he's afraid to lose you, too." Mrs Morris nodded wisely.

"He's not gonna. I promised I'd stay with him forever, and I meant it. I won't leave him, not ever. It's just... I can't keep waiting, hoping someday he'll come around, y'know? It hurts too much."

Mrs Morris reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Rose's ear. "He's a lucky man to have someone like you travelling with him. A very lucky man."

Rose nodded, her eyes filled with tears that she brushed away with a quick gesture.

"Now, come on. There's a lot to be done before the ball tonight. Can you cook at all?"

-oo-O-oo-

The Doctor waited for Rose at the foot of the stairs. When she made her grand début in a borrowed ball gown of pale rose silk, his jaw dropped ever so slightly. He cleared his throat and grinned, sticking his hands into his pinstriped pockets.p "Miss Tyler, may I escort you to the ball?"

"That's Lady Tyler," she replied, sticking her nose up into the air.

"My mistake. But don't you look smashing. For a human," he added after a second's pause.

Rose smacked him on the arm, but he merely smiled at her. "Your carriage awaits, m'lady. Not our _carriage_, of course, but close enough for where we're going."

They drove a short distance to a large brick meeting hall, festooned with lights. The sounds of many people talking and laughing filled the night air, overshadowing the soft chirping of night insects and the metal harnesses of the horses clinking as they pulled up to the door. The smell of many combined perfumes filtered out of the door, along with the mouth-watering scents of barbecued meats and side dishes. Rose felt her stomach gurgle in response. She'd helped out in the kitchen for several hours, putting together little meat pies with the house's cook, but she hadn't been allowed to eat any of them herself.

The Doctor helped her out of the carriage and escorted her into the building. It seemed very bright after the darkness outdoors. Candles flickered on every surface, and great chandeliers hung from the ceiling, lit with gas. The soft lights made every woman's gown shimmer; combined with everything else it nearly overwhelmed her senses. She clung to the Doctor's arm.

Halfway into the main room, they stopped in front of another couple.

"Ah, Lady Rose Tyler," said the Doctor with a smirk, "Allow me to introduce you to Mister William Walker, and his wife, Mistress Jane Walker. I believe that Mrs Walker is our hostess' niece, isn't that right?"

"Their mothers were sisters," replied Mr Walker, as his wife finished her curtsy.

Rose hastily imitated the curtsy and glanced at the wife. "Were? Did something happen?"

Jane flushed and started to open her mouth, but stopped when her husband spoke instead. "A carriage accident," he said, "Several years ago. Both Lydia and her cousin Davinia—that is, Elizabeth Morris' daughter—were killed. I believe that is Davinia's gown you're wearing tonight, Lady Rose."

"And does it not look lovely on her," added another voice, before Rose could figure out if she'd just been insulted. A younger man stepped up and extended his hand to Rose.

"My brother-in-law, Christopher Morris," William said curtly.

She slipped her gloved hand into his, expecting a handshake, but quickly found herself with goosebumps at her first official kiss on the knuckles. She gave a flustered laugh. "Mrs Morris is very kind to loan me her daughter's things."

"Yes, I heard about your troubles in the moor. It can be a treacherous way to go, especially at night. How unfortunate, especially with the Season about to begin. I trust the village seamstress will be able to replace some of your gowns in time, but if not, you look perfectly delightful in my sister's garments. She would have loved to have shared her wardrobe with you, were she here today. Isn't that right, William?"

"I'm sure it is." William Walker gave a short bow and left, pulling his wife along with him. They quickly blended into the crowd, although the tall ruby-coloured feather that adorned Jane's hair could be seen bobbing above the many heads.

"You'll have to excuse my brother. He expected to marry Davinia and had to settle instead for Jane after the accident."

"Oh, that's too bad. Your sister sounds like a lovely person." The Doctor shook hands with Christopher and clapped him on the shoulder. "You have my sympathies on your loss."

"Thank you, Doctor. It will be four years this Candlemas, but I find that I still miss her laughter. She could find the best out of any situation. People adored her. She had hair like yours, Lady Rose, but her eyes were as blue as the sky."

"Like yours," she suggested quietly.

Christopher looked at her for a moment, startled, then gave a half bow. "You are as gracious as I'd heard, m'lady. Is your dance card filled? I would like to claim a dance, if any are yet available."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes at the young man, then started to pull out the psychic paper, intending to show Christopher a dance card without a single waltz or cotillion available. Rose, however, caught his hand and yanked the wallet away from him. He protested, but she gave him a stern look.

"I can handle my own dances, Doctor. Why don't you go and mingle like you planned, yeah?"

He bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment, glancing from Christopher to Rose. Then he grinned. "All right, then. You enjoy yourself and I'll see you later."

"Doctor," she called after him, "Don't forget. I'm saving you a dance."

"Oh... No! That won't be necessary. I'm sure you'll have more than enough admirers to keep you busy. Never mind me. Go on, have fun."

Rose tucked the psychic paper into the tiny satin bag that served as a purse and then faced Christopher with a brilliant smile. "Well then, looks like I'm free for the night. What sort of dancing did you have in mind?"

_(To Be Continued...)_


	4. Of Misunderstandings and Missing Doctors

**Chapter Four – **_**Of Misunderstandings and Missing Doctors**_

Rose plopped herself down onto a velvet sofa as ladylike as possible. Her dancing slippers were too narrow in the toe and she could feel a blister forming, plus both feet ached from the hours of standing around and brisk dancing. Just try to get Shireen and Mickey to do this sort of thing! They'd laugh themselves silly at the sight of so many people parading around the dance floor, mimicking the movements of the leading couple. The main style of dance resembled square dancing more than anything, though it looked rather more elegant since the men wore fancy suits and the women wore long dresses of satin or lace. 

As she unobtrusively slipped her shoes off and lifted one foot to rub, Rose overheard two gentlemen talking. One seemed to be encouraging the other to ask a certain lonely girl to dance, and the other seemed adamant about refusing.

"She is tolerable," he said, "But not handsome enough to tempt _me_; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

Rose glanced over and saw Jane staring at the two men with a crushed look on her face. Stunned, she recognized Christopher as the rude gentleman. As Jane shrugged her shoulders and visibly shook off the insult, the other man returned to his lady. Christopher walked toward Rose, his face lighting up when he caught her looking at him.

She frowned in response, wondering how he could be so rude toward his cousin. The manner in which he had spoken seemed odd, too. Too formal and wordy, not unlike the paragraphs Mrs Morris had read in the old book the night before. When he stood before her and bowed, she stared at him. "I heard what you said," she accused.

"Yes? And did I do poorly, to receive such disfavour with the Lady Rose?"

She stared at him. "You said such horrid things, right where she could hear you! I know you don't like her, but don't you think that's a bit slag?"

"She was supposed to overhear. That's how the story goes." He looked at her a bit oddly. "You did realize this was a rehearsal, did you not?"

"Yes, that's what everyone keeps saying. But a rehearsal for what?"

"For the Season, of course. This is the first ball, during which Mr Darcy refuses to dance with Elizabeth. I've been elected to play Mr Darcy and Jane's played Elizabeth for the past four years. My sister had been elected, just before the accident..." His voice trailed off. "But surely you know how it is done. Is it not the same in London?"

Rose made a neutral sound and bent over to fiddle with her shoe, tying the ribbons around her ankle while thinking. Mindful of what the Doctor had said, she tried to keep her actions hidden below the hem of her gown. She thought she recognized the names Christopher had mentioned from the book Mrs Morris had read aloud, but why would they be acting out scenes from it during a ball?

"Perhaps you will allow me to fetch you a glass of punch, Lady Rose, that I might regain any favour lost?"

She couldn't help but smile. And the punch, once he brought it to her, tasted divine and restored both her energy and her spirits. Christopher proved to be as charming as he'd seemed when she first met him—nothing like the character she'd overheard him portraying.

"If I may ask, how long have you known the Doctor? I understand he is your guardian?"

"Oh, it seems like forever," she said, unwilling to admit that they'd only been travelling together for two years. He was supposed to have been a family friend, someone she'd grown up knowing and only recently begun to travel with, at least, according to their cover story.

"He is very protective," Christopher said hesitantly.

"That's just the way he is! We look out for each other. Can't be apart more than a few minutes without getting into trouble." She laughed, and he listened with gracious attention as she spun out one of their adventures. They'd been in medieval London, not some alien world, so she only had to change a few details to fit into what she'd seen of this time and place.

"Fascinating. Truly, you lead a remarkable life, my lady. To be honest, I don't know if I could live like that. I've always wanted to travel and see the world, but to only return home on occasion? I would miss it, I think. Do you not?"

"Sometimes. But you don't have time to miss the normal things when you're with the Doctor! You're too busy exploring strange cities and meeting new people. Before... it wasn't any kind of life, y'know? Just the same things, over and over. And then, he took me by the hand and yanked me into his world. I haven't looked back since. I don't think I could go back to a normal life again, even if I wanted."

Christopher nodded slowly. "Well then, you are fortunate to be able to travel as you do, to live the sort of life you desire. Not many have the courage to do so."p He spoke of himself just a little, enough to interest her without boring her with all the details of his profession. The more they chatted, the more she warmed up to him, and before she realized it, most of the evening had passed by.

And, as promised, the Doctor sought her out. "Ah, Rose! There you are. And Mr Morris, good to see you again. Taking care of Rose, are you?"

"Yes, indeed, Doctor, though I believe I gave her a start when she overheard part of the rehearsal without realizing it had begun." Christopher gave a wry smile and a bow, then excused himself.

The Doctor sat down beside Rose. "If your feet are up for it, shall we take the next dance?"

"You're joking!"

He gave her a wounded look. "I never joke about dancing. Come on, up you go. I think it's a quadrille next..."

She let him help her stand, then followed him to the dance floor just as a sedate waltz began.

"Or, maybe not. All right, let's see if I can remember how this goes." He slid one hand into her palm and the other around her waist, then led the way, following the beat of the music. It was all she could do to keep up, having never attempted to dance, other than a few giggling practice sessions with Shireen late at night, after watching old romance films.

"There you go, you're doing fine," he said warmly. "Just remember the beat, one-two-three. Did you know that the waltz caused quite a stir when it first came out? It was banned in most respectable towns for some time."

"Why's that?" She tried not to notice how cool the Doctor's hand felt against the curve of her waist, and the fact that she could smell his unique alien scent, a blend of cinnamon and honey. The old Doctor had smelled like lemons and cinnamon, but this one had a warmer scent. It had taken her weeks to get used to it. Normally it calmed her, made her feel safe, but right now it made her uneasy and self-conscious.

"This is a very erotic dance," he admitted, after some pause. "Or, at least, the pre-Victorians thought so. One man dancing with one woman for the entire dance, never changing partners. Always touching, hand in hand, facing each other. That's why the arms are supposed to be kept stiff—to keep a respectable distance between each other. It's all too easy to drift closer, you know."

And she did know, since the lapels of the Doctor's jacket kept brushing against the front of her gown.

"Have you learned anything from your eavesdropping?" she asked, to change the subject.

"Oh, yes! As a matter of fact, I have. Quite a few things are beginning to make sense. There's still one huge question hanging over it all, though. Need to do a bit more investigating."

"But what have you found out?"

"Well, for example, have you noticed that every other woman in the village is named Elizabeth? They each have their own nickname, of course. Lizzie, Libbie, Etta, Betty, Iza, and so on."

"Maybe they just really like the Queen."

"Ah, but they don't have a Queen. Not like we do. There's an elected representative of the people who is called King or Queen, but it has nothing to do with bloodlines. And besides, Queen Elizabeth the First reigned a couple of centuries before all this appears to be. They wouldn't have any particular reason for honouring her above the others. Should take you to meet her sometime... I've been to sixteenth century London, of course, but never to the royal court. Might be entertaining, don't you think?"

He nudged her out away from him, then spun her back to his side, so skilfully that she'd barely had time to realize what he'd done. She laughed breathlessly. Waltzing with the Doctor! She never would have believed it.

"I learned something, too, though maybe it's not important. This whole dance is something to do with the book Mrs Morris was reading to us. S'like they're acting it out."

The Doctor looked pleased as he spun them around a slower couple. "Figured that out, did you? Good for you. Matter of fact, I think this whole society is based on that one book."

"How can that be?" She frowned up at him.

"Don't know. That's what I need to find out. And I intend to, first thing tomorrow."

-oo-O-oo-

Rose woke with a headache and tender feet. She moaned as she slid out of bed and tried to stand.

"Oh, don't try to get up yet," Mrs Morris cried from the doorway. She brought a basin of hot water and placed it on the floor beside the bed. "Here, soak your feet in this awhile, m'lady. I remember how Davinia used to come home from the balls with feet swollen and aching. The water will soothe them."

The hot water felt heavenly, as did the cool compress on her forehead. But, "I haven't time to be pampered this morning," she lamented. "The Doctor and I are going out first thing. He'll be waiting for me, moaning about how much I sleep."

Mrs Morris glanced up with an odd expression. "But the Doctor's left already. He said not to wake you."

Rose felt a sinking feeling in her chest. "He hasn't..."

"Oh, but he has. More than an hour ago, and he asked that we not wait supper for him tonight. He might be back late."

"You don't mean he's actually _left_? Without me?"

"He said he checked in on you, but that you were sleeping like an angel and he couldn't bear to disturb you. It's why I waited so long to come up with the hot water."

"But how'd he leave? On foot?" Maybe she could catch up to him, the nervy git.

"He walked about early this morning, I believe, but came back with mud all over his coat and said he'd be taking the carriage. I daresay he managed to repair it, though I don't know what's become of your horses, lost in the bog. Ours are still in the stable, though, so he must've found your own on his excursion this morning."

Rose wiped her feet dry and pulled her clothes on as quickly as she could, mumbling the whole time about promises and being left behind. With Mrs Morris following anxiously behind, she hurried down the stairs and out the door. Once outside the cottage, she paused and glanced around. "Which way to the stables?"

Mrs Morris pointed, and Rose ran, her skirts flying around her calves. It took some effort to open the heavy stable door, but she managed. Inside, she looked around as her eyes adjusted. She saw the outline of stalls for horses, the bulk of equipment such as saddles and harnesses. And a glaringly bare area set aside for an extra carriage. She stood in that empty spot and scanned the ground. A depression in the soft dirt caught her eye and she traced the shape of a square, little over a metre wide.

"He's left me, the rotten tosser! 'Not you,' he says, but where is he now?" she cried, turning away from the bare space. "The filthy lying prick! I'm bloody gonna kill him, I am."

Mrs Morris wrung her hands. "Lady Rose... He didn't mean to upset you. I know he didn't. I'm sure if you wait, he'll be back and with an explanation."

"He doesn't need one. He's the Doctor," she said quietly.

_(To Be Continued...)_

* * *

_Author's Note: Due to my being out of town, the next update will not be until Monday or Tuesday. Thus the early chapter today!  
_


	5. Of Being Alone

**Chapter Five – **_**Of Being Alone**_

The first day, Rose fumed. By turns, she paced in her room and dashed down the stairs to the window that overlooked the garden. Every strange sound caught her attention and caused her heart to pound with both indignation at the Doctor's nerve and relief that he'd made it back safely. And every time it proved a false alarm, she turned away with agitation and hidden fear. That night, she slept soundly, certain that the Doctor would be downstairs when she woke.

Worn out from the full day of worrying, Rose did not open her eyes until the midday sun streamed through her window. At first she stretched and yawned, oblivious, then she sat upright with a jolt. He ought to be down there, chatting with the kitchen staff or discussing trivials with Mrs Morris, waiting impatiently for her to wake up. He'd say something stupid, designed to take the edge of her temper, but she wouldn't let him charm his way out of this one.

As she slid out of bed, Rose noticed a tray set up on the desk. It looked like the sort of breakfast that would keep, hidden under covered dishes. A vase with a pretty flower adorned the tray, along with a folded piece of paper. She couldn't help but smile. Trying to butter her up, was he? Afraid to face her in person, had he sent his apologies along with the rose-like flower?

She poked around the tray but didn't feel like eating any of the items on it. It would soon be lunchtime, anyway. The flower she sniffed, savouring the honey-sweet smell. The note she saved for last, taking it to the bed to read.

A stab of disappointment hit her when she did not recognize the handwriting. With quick fingers, she unfolded the thick creamy paper and scanned the lines of slanting cursive.

_To the Lady Rose—_

_As I greatly enjoyed both conversation and dancing with you the other evening, I pray you will allow me the honour of visiting with you again. Might I be so bold as to request an afternoon of your company? Respectfully awaiting your answer,_

_Your obedient servant,  
Christopher Morris_

Rose sighed. She liked him well enough, but she certainly did not feel like company at the moment. Besides, they'd likely be off as soon as the Doctor returned with the enigma solved. Always moving on to the next adventure, the next mystery.

She dressed slowly, her feelings of anger dissolving into hurt. How could he have gone off without her? Without even telling her or saying goodbye? Didn't he know how much it would upset her? Or didn't he care?

With those thoughts on her mind, she went downstairs. Each step creaked beneath her feet. She wondered if her new shoes would be ready by now. And then she walked into the dining room and stopped short.

Christopher rose from the table and bowed. A lock of blonde hair fell forward onto his face, accenting his blue eyes.

Rose stammered in surprise. "But... I just got your note. How can you... why are you...?"

"Forgive me, m'lady. I thought perhaps you knew. I did not mean to startle you or cause distress." He folded his napkin and glanced to his mother.

Mrs Morris set aside her fork and went to Rose's side. "Dear child. Christopher lives here, didn't you know? His room is beyond yours, on the second level. But, of course, he's been so busy with rehearsals, it's no wonder you haven't bumped into each other before today."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I should've guessed." She sat down with flushed cheeks.

"No need to apologize, Lady Rose. You did not know, and I am not offended." He paused, sitting back down. "You need not see more of me than you wish. I shall make myself scarce during the remainder of your stay, if you desire."

"What? No, of course not. It's your home. I'm just visiting for a bit. Don't let me stop you from doing whatever it is you do."

Mrs Morris placed a plate before Rose, piled high with sliced meats and steaming potatoes. "Here you are, dear. Enjoy your lunch. We'll leave you in peace."

"No, please." She looked up. "You were eating. Don't let me chase you away with my bad mood."

With a nod, Mrs Morris sat back down. She exchanged a brief worried look with her son, and then quietly said, "He isn't back yet, I'm afraid."

Rose said nothing. The food smelled delicious, but it had no flavour in her mouth and settled into her stomach like cold metal.

-oo-O-oo-

The third day, she began to worry.

"What if something's happened to him? What if he's hurt?"

"Shall we make a search of the outer roads, then? He would not have been so foolish as to have tried to traverse the moor, would he?" Christopher frowned.

"If it's a bad idea, then you can bet that he's done it," Rose replied, though she doubted he'd gone anywhere close by in the TARDIS. "Have you got a map?"

She examined the heavy atlas he brought her. The moor surrounded the small village on three sides, leaving only the northern border free, along with the road that led to the next village and eventually to London. After flipping through the large atlas, Rose found a map that showed England. She furrowed her brow at the sketch on the page. According to the map, all of the United Kingdom included only England and Scotland, and the whole island appeared to be bordered by the impassable bog, rather than an ocean. From their first walk to the village, she'd discovered that a kilometre was considerably less than an actual kilometre—about half, she estimated. She bit her lip while doing the calculations in her head, and then stared at the map.

The strange scale of this place left the combined length of England and Scotland at less than five hundred kilometres!

"How many people live in London, d'you think?"

Christopher shrugged lightly. "Perhaps as many as five hundred thousand, but I believe it is less than that. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she answered, bewildered. One of the little bits of trivia she'd picked up from the Doctor was that at the beginning of the eighteen-hundreds, London had housed more than a million people.

-oo-O-oo-

Halfway through the fifth day, she locked herself in her room. Until the following sunrise, she lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling.

-oo-O-oo-

The twenty-second day, she agreed to take a walk through the gardens with Christopher. He amused her with little stories about the villagers, the sort of mistakes they'd made during rehearsals, and events from his childhood. He did not mention the Doctor, but skilfully kept her attention elsewhere.

That night, she stood outside and looked up at the stars. The two moons seemed strange, but she recognized more than a few of the stars. They brought to mind too many memories of being with the Doctor, however, so she scanned for the star she knew belonged to Earth. That one she focused on, even as she whispered over and over, "Doctor, where are you?"

-oo-O-oo-

"He seems like a man able to care for himself," Mrs Morris said, on the thirty-eighth day. "Perhaps he is merely detained in London. Though you would think he could send word, at least, to ease your mind."

Rose said nothing as she wound a skein of wool into a ball. Five and a half weeks. That's how long the Doctor had been away.

Mrs Morris bit her lip. "I hesitate even to ask, m'lady, but... is it possible... that he... well, that perhaps he thought you would be better off in our care, rather than tramping around the world with him?"

Rose glanced at her sharply. "Impossible," she murmured, and yet her mind filled with the accounts the Doctor had told her of previous companions. How many had he dropped off somewhere, convinced that it was time for them to settle down and live normal lives? Convinced they'd be better off away from him? Even his own granddaughter, Susan. He'd locked her out of the TARDIS, abandoned her on Earth, thinking she would be happier to live with the man she'd fallen in love with. And Sarah Jane, the sweet woman. He'd dropped her off in Aberdeen, hundreds of miles from her home in Croydon, without ever telling her that he would not be coming back for her.

"He promised," she reminded herself aloud. "He wouldn't leave me here. It's just that he hasn't a very good sense of time. He's probably on the side of the road somewhere, tinkering with the—the carriage and thinking it's only been a day or two since he's left."

She tried not to remember the day the Doctor had taken her home after their first adventure together, how he announced that it had been only twelve hours since she'd left, and how it had really been twelve months.

"He'll be here. He's just lost track of time, that's all."

She didn't notice the pitying look that Mrs Morris gave her.

-oo-O-oo-

On the forty-second day, she sat down with Mrs Morris and began to learn needlework. Her stitches were tight and uneven, the pattern a ragged mess, but Mrs Morris kindly showed her how to unpick the threads. Every stab of the needle into the fabric gave her a jolt of satisfaction.

-oo-O-oo-

On the sixty-eighth day, she accepted a minor role in the Season's performance of their sacred Book. She spoke no lines and had no real actions other than to dance at the parties and stroll along the main street of the village whilst the main characters acted out their parts, but like the needlework, it gave her something to do.

Every evening, Mrs Morris read aloud from the Book. By now, Rose knew that she had heard the story before, though she could not place it. Since she had only read two or three books published on alien worlds, she knew it had to mean the Book came from Earth, originally.

She missed the novel she'd been reading before they'd landed—crashed—here, since she'd been three-fourths of the way through it and the heroine had nearly figured out which of three brothers had been sending her anonymous love letters. It occurred to her that she might never know whether it was Brautok, Snu, or Arsiin who secretly loved Annaza.

-oo-O-oo-

On the ninety-third day, she displayed a piece of embroidered cloth to Mrs Morris. The rows were almost straight and the flowers actually resembled flowers, even if none seen on this world. The little rectangular boxes around the edges were merely decoration. Certainly they did _not_ resemble the TARDIS.

"Very good, m'lady. You've quite improved! I do believe you could attempt something more ambitious, if you've the inclination."

"Why not? I've nothing else to do," she replied.

-oo-O-oo-

On the one hundred and first day, she met again with Christopher in the gardens. They often took such walks together, for she enjoyed his company and found that anything was better than sitting alone in her room, waiting for the Doctor.

This time, he handed her one of the flowers grown in the greenhouse.

Rose pulled her coat tighter around herself and accepted the flower with a smile. Winter had set in and most of the garden now lay dormant. Still, she liked to spend time outside. Her room upstairs so often seemed like a prison. One place, one time... sometimes she thought she would go mad.

"My lady," Christopher said, bowing.

Rose curtsied in reply and adjusted the hood of her coat. The freezing wind tried to catch hold of her hair, to pull it loose from the pins that held it in place. To her embarrassment, her roots had begun to show badly. She wore a hat or bonnet whenever possible, and the rest of the time, she bound her hair with wide ribbons that hid the dark roots. Eventually, the roots would grow out long enough that she could cut the blonde ends off. It had been years since she'd had brown hair.

She couldn't imagine looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger, but she felt like one anyway. No longer Rose Tyler: Defender of the Universe, Time Traveller, and Companion to the Doctor. Just plain, simple... well, not quite plain Rose Tyler, since these people considered her a lady. All right then, Dame Rose Tyler. Still, it wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't what she craved. Or whom she craved to be with.

Christopher sat beside her on the stone bench. For some time neither said anything. Then, he boldly covered her hand with his. "You're cold."

"Yeah. Bit nippy out here, innit?"

"Shall we go in?"

"No," she said quickly. "I'd rather not."

"Then, since we are staying put, there is something I would like to ask you, Lady Rose."

"What's that, then?"

He cleared his throat. "You must know of my admiration for you, my lady. Your beauty, of course, but also your cleverness, your wit, your laugh..."

"Go on!" She laughed, shoving at him.

"I am in earnest, Lady Rose."

Rose looked at him. Surely he didn't mean... he couldn't be...

"Since there is no one present to speak for you, I would ask you yourself and pray that you are not offended. Would you consider...? That is, is there any possibility that...?"

She squeezed his hand. "Just say it. Whatever it is."

He blew out a breath. "Well then. Would you allow me the honour of courting you, Lady Rose? I know I am not your equal, but I think it likely that we would be well suited for each other."

"Court me?" She tried to remember exactly what that meant before answering, lest she get in over her head without meaning to.

"Yes. If you do not think it too forward of me to ask, that is."

"No, of course not. I'm not... I might be a Dame, but that doesn't make me any different from you. I grew up without a lot of money, without a lot of things. I'm nobody special." Though I thought maybe I was, for awhile, she added silently.

"Well then." He looked at her anxiously, his nose turning red from the cold and his eyes shining brightly in anticipation.

"This... courting. What does it involve, exactly?"

"Oh. Well, I suppose I would meet you in the afternoons for tea, and perhaps a walk around the gardens. I would be your escort to each dance, that is, the ones that aren't part of the Season. We might sit together in the evenings and get to know one another better."

"So... just the way things are now." She grinned.

He chuckled. "Well, I suppose we have been seeing rather a lot of each other. Can't be helped with you staying at my home. The difference would be, I suppose, that I would have a bit of a claim on you. A mutual claim, that is. It would be saying to the village that we're..."

"Together?" she asked softly.

"Together. In a limited sense, of course," he added.

Then he stood and put his hands in his pockets in a manner that tore at Rose's heart. She bit her lip until it bled.

"I have no right to expect that you would agree, my lady, but I had hoped... that is, it seemed as though you..."

"Yeah," she whispered.

"I... what did you say?"

She shook her head, pulling a strand of hair out of her face, then gave a small laugh. "I said, yes. I'd... like that."

The look on his face was one that she would remember for a long time. He pulled her up to his side and hugged her, then cupped her face with one hand. For a moment, she thought he would kiss her, but his lips just missed hers, landing on her cheek instead.

_(To Be Continued...)  
_

* * *

_ **Author's Note:** I've made a slight revision to this chapter to fix my mix-up of Croydon and Aberdeen. It now reflects accurately which city Sarah Jane lived in and which she was dropped off at. Sorry for any confusion!  
_


	6. Of Not Being Alone

**Chapter Six – **_**Of Not Being Alone **_

On the one hundred and second day, Rose overheard a conversation similar to the one she'd heard the day after they'd arrived.

"She's _not _leaving. Her precious Doctor has left her here, and you know that she'll want my place," hissed a woman's voice. "Perhaps we should just—"

"She's made no demands, yet, has she?" interrupted a man.

"It doesn't matter! She's a Dame, and people will begin to question why she's only a background player. Her rank..."

"Yes, her rank. How, exactly, do we know that she is a lady? Her behaviour certainly does not indicate good breeding, and I've not heard her name mentioned by any of my acquaintances in London."

"And yet my cousin is besotted with her. He plays Mr Darcy. Suppose he requests that she be promoted to Elizabeth? He is well-liked, as is she. The people will surely approve his request and vote her into my place, if not this year, then the next."

A long pause, and then the man said, "We shall simply have to see to it _that _ does not happen."

"But..."

"It is nothing for you to worry about. Concentrate on your role. I will deal with Lady Rose."

-oo-O-oo-

The Season closed on the evening of the one hundred and eleventh day. Everyone celebrated with a grand ball—plenty of food and drink, laughter and dancing. An overseer attended, and no one seemed to notice that his eyes glowed in the dark or that his skin gleamed silver. Rose drank more of the local champagne than she ought have, but enjoyed herself nonetheless.

After having seen the entire Book acted out, she now knew why it seemed so familiar. It hadn't been a novel she'd read, after all, but rather, a film she'd watched. One with handsome actors in satin breeches that showed off their legs. She couldn't wait to tell the Doctor... and that thought left her suddenly sober and feeling ill.

Later that night, Christopher kissed her for the first time, beneath the arbour in the garden. He smelled of fresh mint and cloves. Rose's breath misted in the winter night air, and the cold hid the guilty flushing of her cheeks.

-oo-O-oo-

On the one hundred and thirty-ninth day, it rained. Large wet drops pattered against the window, reflecting onto the walls a myriad of ever-changing, flowing patterns. Rose found herself alone in her room facing the looking glass. From around her neck she pulled a chain. On the end of the chain dangled a key. She wrapped her fingers around it, willing it to feel hot and glow, even just a little. But it warmed to her body temperature and no more.

She flexed her fingers and stared at the brass key. Then she pulled a wad of fabric out from the back of the bottom desk drawer. She unrolled it, revealing her bra and trainers. Letting out a deep breath, she dropped the TARDIS key inside one of her shoes. It vanished within the shadows of leather and rubber.

"Lady Rose? Are you in here?"

"Just a mo'," she called out. With quick motions, she rolled the relics of her old life back up inside the pillowcase and stuffed them into the drawer. It shut with a scrape and a thud that squeezed her heart. But she pinched her cheeks and willed herself not to cry.

-oo-O-oo-

Mrs Morris inspected Rose's needlework on the one hundred and fifty-third day.

"Oh, but that's beautiful, m'lady. You've done a wonderful job with this," she declared, looking closely at the tiny pink flowers made of thread. "I've never seen blossoms like these. Do they grow around London?"

Yeah," she answered. "Near where I used to live, actually. My mum, she... she used to stop when we were driving by, to pull a few up from the ground, take 'em home and try to grow 'em in our windowsill. She... She always did stupid things like that."

"Oh, sweetheart." Mrs Morris put down the cloth and hugged Rose, feeling her shuddering efforts not to cry. "It's all right, m'lady. Truly, it is."

"I know. It's just, I hadn't realized when I was sewing the flowers... Then it just sort of hit me all at once. I've no one now. No one at all. Not even Mickey." She stifled a sob that sounded almost like a laugh.

"And who is Mickey? A pet?"

Rose did laugh at that, though tears coursed from her eyes. She gasped, trying to stop her hysterics. When she finally could speak again, she said, "That's what he always said he was—nothing but our dog. But he's better than that. So much better! He's brilliant, Mickey is. He was my best friend, until the Doctor came along. We did everything together. We always figured we'd be together forever, that nothing could come between us. And then..."

"The Doctor, yes. He seems to have been quite the influence on your life, though, if you'll forgive me saying so, perhaps not in the best way."

Rose shrugged. "He showed me a better way of living, how to actually care for people. How to make a difference instead of standing on the side of the road, watching. Maybe it isn't the sort of life everyone could lead, but it suited me. I miss it. I miss him."

"And you always will. But it will get better, in time. I promise you that. You'll find other people to be friends with. Someone else to love. And in time, your pain will ease."

Mrs Morris gave Rose space to compose herself, going back to the embroidery. She shook out the long panel of fabric and turned thoughtful. "This would look lovely sewn to a petticoat, don't you think? I've plenty of linen downstairs. Why don't we make it together, and you'll have something fancy to wear for a special occasion. How does that sound?"

Rose wiped the tears from her face and nodded.

-oo-O-oo-

On the afternoon of the one hundred and sixty-fourth day, Rose found herself in the gardens with Christopher again. A spring breeze tossed her hair around. She'd finally cut it, to be rid of the blonde tips, and though it still had a bit to go before reaching her shoulders, it had grown past the awkward stage and now tended to curl around her face in a manner that Christopher assured her was most fetching.

He led her to the stone bench and sat beside her. "Look, the pink flowers are finally blooming. They remind me of you, you know."

"Round with stripes?" She poked him.

"Of course not! Though, your dress _is_ striped, so do not hit me again." He waved a finger at her in mock scolding. "What I meant is... well, they are the last of the spring flowers to bloom each year. It's as though they cannot bear the beauty of the spring and so they wait until the last moment to show themselves."

"So, I'm a late bloomer, am I?"

"No, that isn't what I meant, either. It's just that... Mother and I have been worried about you over the winter. At times you looked so pale that I thought you would fade away. I know that you cried every night for some time after..." He cleared his throat. "And I know that you no longer do so."

Rose shrugged and picked at the edges of her shawl. "Got to move on."

"Yes. Though I dare not hope that you've forgotten your Doctor, for I know that he was very dear to you."

"Don't," she interrupted. "Please. Don't say his name. Don't talk about him. He's gone and I have to live with that."

"Yes. But you don't have to do so alone."

She turned to face him. "You've been a good friend, Christopher. I... I don't know what I would've done without you. And your mother."

"She is very fond of you, you know."

"Yeah." Tears filled her eyes as she though of her own mother, so very far away. Had the Doctor bothered to tell her that her daughter wouldn't be coming home? Or had he left Jackie to wonder, even as Rose wondered about the Doctor. Had he regenerated and forgotten where he'd left her? Or had he simply moved on to another companion? Always moving on, always running... But she couldn't run any more.

"I know that you have no family, now. No one to speak for you or protect you, and that doesn't seem right to me. You don't deserve to be alone, Rose."

He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Rose managed not to wince, barely. That was the hand the Doctor had once gripped... but it didn't matter any more. Her hands were her own, to give as she pleased.

"Lady Rose, what I am so foolishly trying to say is... I care for you, very much." He reached up and caressed her jaw. She could feel his hand shaking just a little when he placed it on her shoulder. "And, though I know that I will never be first in your heart, for that place has already been taken, I beg of you to search your feelings... to see if there is not room in there for me, also, beside the ghost of his memory. And, if there is, if you would consider becoming my wife?"

Rose stared at him. She'd guessed that he'd fallen in love with her, but she hadn't thought he would ask her this. Not so soon, anyway. She swallowed and discovered a knot in her throat. "Christopher..."

He stopped her with a gentle finger to her lips. "Please. If your answer is to be 'no', then I beg of you to wait and defer the decision 'til another day. To give yourself more time to heal and become used to the idea."

She shook her head and opened her mouth. No words would come, so she looked away. The wind picked up again, flapping her skirts against her legs. Christopher slid from the bench and knelt before her, her hands held firmly in his own. He looked up at her with eyes that held such hope. She couldn't bear to break his heart.

For several long moments, Rose stared off into the green paths of the garden, feeling the turn of the earth beneath her. Only Christopher's hand kept her from falling away.

Then she looked down at him. She started to speak... but the billowing wind turned into a sound she thought she'd never hear again. The wheezing gusts peaked sharply and then fell away. Rose's heart hammered in her chest. She could not turn around.

Christopher let go of her hand and stood at the creaking sound of a door opening. "What witchcraft is this? Explain yourself, sir!"

"Oh, s'not witchcraft. Just the TARDIS, good old girl." The sound of a hand patting a wooden door hit Rose's ears and she closed her eyes. "Err, she's my carriage, you see. You didn't _actually_ see us appear out of thin air, just now, Caleb. It was Caleb, wasn't it? Yes, anyway, it's just that she's a very _fast _ carriage. With no horses. The latest thing in London! Horseless carriages, they call them. Run on petrol. Very fast. You were busy, distracted, didn't see us drive up, that's all. Nothing supernatural about it. Nothing at all."

Christopher helped Rose to her feet but stood just in front of her, protectively.

"Rose, that you? What's all this, then? Looks like you two were having quite a conversation before I came along." When she didn't answer, but turned to look at him silently, he protested, "You've cut your hair! What'd you go and do that for?"

Without saying a word, she let go of Christopher's hand, walked over to the Doctor, and slapped him.

_(To Be Continued...)_

_**  
**_


	7. Of Accusations and Broken Hearts

**Chapter Seven – **_**Of Accusations and Broken Hearts **_

The Doctor stared at Rose with one hand to his cheek. His mouth gaped like a fish struggling for air. Finally, as she turned her back on him, he muttered, "Blimey. Just like her mother."

Christopher stepped forward, the tails of his coat flapping in the breeze. His eyes flashed with icy indignation. "I would order you to leave, sir, were it not for the fact that you are still the Lady Rose's guardian and the chance that she might think poorly of me for doing so."

"And what have I done—lately, that is—to deserve such harsh treatment?" The Doctor crossed his arms and stared down Christopher.

"It is you who have been harsh, sir, in your absence without so much as a by-your-leave to the lady."

"Oh, that." The Doctor scratched the side of his nose and made a bit of a face. "Right. Well, I suppose I can see that she might've been a _bit _ upset, but surely she's gotten over it? After all, I'm back. No harm done!"

"No harm—!"

Rose put a hand on Christopher's shoulder, stopping him. Softly, she requested, "Give us a minute, yeah?"

He searched her eyes and nodded, but before taking his leave, kissed her—gently, lingeringly, with restrained promise—in full view of the Doctor.

The Doctor's eyes bugged out. "What the _hell_...? Did he just...? Rose, Caleb just _kissed _ you! What, you have a couple of dances with the bloke and he thinks he has the right to do that sort of thing?"

She glared at him. "His name is Christopher, just in case you feel the need to insult him again. Why is it you can never get my boyfriends' names right?"

"Hold on, did you say _boyfriend_? Rose, what's going on here? It's like I've fallen into another parallel universe or something! I mean, really—I go out for the day and suddenly you're letting the locals woo you?"

"Not _all _ of 'em, just Christopher," she said. The Doctor looked so funny with his forehead scrunched up like that and his eyes so wide and disbelieving. He looked so familiar, so exactly like she'd remembered that for a dizzy moment it seemed as though they'd never been apart. But they had. For a very long time. She had to keep that in mind, to fight the impulse to throw her arms around him. She had to remember that the man she worshipped had gone off and abandoned her her in this alien village. Rose bit the inside of her cheek to keep her composure. After two deep breaths, she managed to ask, "Why?"

"Why? Why _what_? Why are you wooing the local blokes? How should I know? You're the one getting cosy with Mr Knee-Pants over there. What was he doing anyway? Tying your shoe? That's quite a big liberty for him to be taking, considering the morals of the time. You ought to be more careful. A lot of these people equate familiarity with commitment. If you end up engaged by accident there won't be much I can do to bail you out."

"He wasn't tying my shoe," she said calmly. "He was asking me to marry him. Actually got on his knees to do it. The planet where chivalry never died, this is. Now tell me _why_. Why did you leave me here?"

A crease appeared between the Doctor's eyebrows. "Well, you were sleeping. I figured you'd have a hangover, at the least, and your feet would be sore from all that dancing, so I decided to let you have a lie in. Mrs Morris knew I'd gone—didn't she tell you?" He paused. "Did I hear you right a second ago? Was he really asking you to marry him? Blimey, the men around here move fast."

Rose covered her mouth to stifle a sobbing laugh. The light wind stung her eyes as she shook her head in disbelief. "S'only been a day for you, yeah? A few hours? Where'd you go?"

"I had a hunch this morning, but like I said, I didn't want to wake you." His eyes lit up. "Remember that signal the TARDIS picked up just before we crashed? You're not going to believe what I found! I can hardly believe it myself—except that I was there, so I rather have to."

He grinned, pausing only for a quick breath before rushing on.

"I would've been back hours ago, but I had a spot of trouble with the repairs I made. Had to stop over on a little planet all the way on the other side of the galaxy. Food's terrible, but they have a smashing mechanical shop. Got the old girl up and running better than ever! Anyway, I came back just as soon as I got everything hooked back together. Am I too late for supper?" He paused and sniffed the air. "Hold on. I could have sworn it was autumn, here."

Rose tugged her shawl around her shoulders and watched as the Doctor licked a finger and held it to the breeze. He knelt to examine the flowers poking up from the dark soil, going so far as to taste the dirt with the tip of his tongue. Then he stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. "I don't understand. It looks like spring, now. Wind's from a different direction, the soil has all the wrong elements in it, and there weren't nearly so many blooming flowers this morning."

When Rose didn't reply, he narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down. "You've lost weight. And your hair... it's not just shorter, you've gone natural. Why do I suddenly have the very bad feeling that I deserved that slap you gave me?"

She looked away, focusing on the blue bulk of the TARDIS to keep her grounded. She would not cry in front of him. She wouldn't let him see how much he'd hurt her. She needed to stay angry, but how could she, with the Doctor standing close enough to touch?

With an intense face, he took Rose by the shoulders. "How long?"

Despite her efforts, she felt herself beginning to tear up and tried to pull away. But the Doctor wouldn't let her. "Rose, look at me. I can tell that you're upset, but you have to tell me. How long have I been gone? _How long?_"

"Half a year," she whispered.

His face crumpled and his hands fell from her shoulders. He pulled at his hair while turning in a jagged circle. "Stupid! Stupid, _stupid_!"

"The days are shorter here, of course," she went on. "Been more like nine months on their calendar. But I compensated for it in my head, kept track. Didn't want to forget." She lifted her chin. "So all this time..."

"I did _not_ forget about you, Rose." He stood still and caught her gaze. "Tell me you believe that!"

She shrugged a little. "Yeah, all right."

"Rose, it's only been a day for me. _One day! _ I didn't know... I swear it! I would never have left you behind like this if I'd a choice. You believe me, don't you?"

"I don't know what I believe," she cried. "You've no idea what it's like, do you? Last time, at least I had Mickey! But here? You don't know what it's like to be the only human on this whole little planet. To look up at the stars every night, wondering if—if you're out there somewhere, hurt, or dying, or regenerating. To wonder if I did something wrong, if it was my fault, if I got too boring or wasn't smart enough for you to bother coming back for."

"Never, Rose. Never!" He cupped both his hands along her cheeks. His eyes grew dark and wide, almost feverish. "I promised that I wouldn't leave you behind and I meant it. You could never do anything to make me abandon you! You're brilliant, and beautiful, and clever, and utterly fantastic. This was a mistake. An awful mistake. But... maybe I can fix it. Now that I know, I can go back, make sure I land just a few hours after I left. You'll never know I was gone!"

She grabbed his arm as he wheeled toward the TARDIS. "Doctor! Stop it. You can't do that. We're part of the timeline, remember? If you change it... Reapers will come."

"No." He held up a finger. "Not necessarily. This is what I do, remember? And if I'm clever—which I am—then I can double back and change this whole mess without causing an imbalance. You were never supposed to be here, after all. So, really, I'd just be putting it right again, see?"

Rose shook her head. "You can't do that. What's done is done, Doctor. You can't go back and erase my past."

He leaned against the TARDIS, defeated.

After a long while, he sighed. "Six months?"

"Yeah."

"Could've been worse, I suppose. Keep busy?"

She snorted as ladylike as possible. "Mrs Morris looked after me, taught me to sew. And I got to play an extra in their Season. Just hanging around in the background, but at least all those stupid drama classes didn't go to waste."

"Good for you." Another pause. "And... Christopher, was it?"

"We've been dating. Courting, they call it. Just sort of hanging out, getting to know each other better. There's nowhere to really go out on dates, but we attend dinners and dances as a couple. Stuff like that."

"I see." He slid his hands into his pockets and bounced on his feet. "How long's that been going on?"

"Awhile." She shrugged. "He's a good man, y'know. You'd like him."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I'm sure. Nice bloke. You've really been _dating_ him?"

"There something wrong with that?"

"No... no. Of course not. You're a woman—he's a man. S'only natural that there'd be... some sort of attraction." He ran a hand through his hair, causing bits of it to stand on end, and then wrinkled his face up. "Dating... Seriously? You never dated anyone before. At least, not while you were with me! I mean, there was Mickey, but he hardly counts. And Adam, but I never got what you saw in him, really. You and Jack... didn't. Did you?"

"Mickey does so count!" she protested, ignoring his question. "He was the only real boyfriend I had after Jimmy Stones. Treated me better than anyone, 'sides you. And I never liked Adam. He was too stupid."

"What, the boy with all the A-levels?"

"S'like I said, stupid. Left me with that Dalek, didn't he?"

"There was that, yes." He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "What about Jack? You didn't say."

Rose smiled with fond memory. "We danced. On an invisible spaceship anchored to Big Ben. During the London Blitz. After he'd saved my life. Can't get much better than that, can you?"

"Jack is an unconscionable flirt—you know that. He'd shag a potted plant if it winked at him."

She giggled, just a little. "Yeah, he would. Never shagged me, though."

"No?" His voice held a causal interest that would've fooled anyone but her.

"What, with the way you staked your claim on me in the control room when he first came on board?" Rose gave a short bark of a disbelieving laugh. "I could've walked into his room naked and he would've refused. He may be randy, but he's loyal, Jack is. He wouldn't do something like that to a friend."

"What d'you mean, _staked my claim_? Isn't like I branded you or anything."

"Might as well have. Did you practice that face or did it just come naturally?"

"Which face?"

"The one you made whenever a hot bloke came within twenty meters of me. Sort of like when you're facing Cybermen or Daleks—all dark and intense, warning 'em off."

He started to say something, but stopped before the words came out. Rose watched the play of emotions in his eyes and the way they vanished within seconds. He folded his arms and fixed his gaze on a flowering tree across the path. "You've always been free to choose, Rose."

"Have I?"

"I asked Adam on board, didn't I? And Jack? And Mickey? Twice I asked _him_! I never asked anyone twice, except for you. All those blokes and d'you think I would've travelled around with any of them on my own? Well, maybe Jack," he added after a second's consideration. "After I'd gotten to know him better."

"But I didn't want any of 'em," she stated quietly. "Not Adam, not Jack, and not even poor Mickey. They all saw it. Sometimes I thought that you saw it, too, so I waited. So much more than five-and-a-half hours. Not much use, though, was it? You wouldn't let me be with anyone else... but you wouldn't let me be with you, either."

The Doctor turned to one side and scratched at the dirt with his shoe. He made a couple of odd faces, rubbed the back of his neck, and finally sighed before straightening his posture. "Was he asking you to marry him, just now? Really?"

Rose nodded and smiled faintly. "Called you the ghost in my heart, he did."

"Nah. Not a ghost. Just a Time Lord." He grinned, but a faint grin that quickly vanished. "What did you say—when he asked you?"

"I hadn't answered yet. The TARDIS sort of interrupted."

"Oh, yes? Good timing..." He gave a fond glance toward the TARDIS, then sobered and added, "Or bad, depending on your point of view."

Rose tugged her shawl closed and looked down at the flying strands of silk fringe. She couldn't think what more to say. Certainly, she didn't want to keep on discussing Christopher with the Doctor. But he seemed stuck on the subject.

"Marriage." He sniffed. "That what you want, then? To stay here, get married, have kids, the whole domestic scene? Tired of travelling, are you?"

"Didn't have much of a choice, yeah? S'not like I have my own TARDIS to run away in. Can't do much travelling when there's only horses to take you around. Besides, the country's pretty small and it's the only land on the planet, far as I can tell. I could walk the whole of England in a few days, and then what? S'like the whole country got shrunk and put down in the middle of a bog."

"Listen to you, clever girl! That's exactly what happened."

She glanced at him. "What, you serious?"

"Quite! I told you I went looking for that signal, didn't I? It was way out in the middle of the bog. You'll never guess what it was. Go on, guess."

"A distress beacon?"

His face lit up when he grinned. "That's my Rose. Brilliant as ever! A distress beacon, over a thousand years old."

"And still going? Didn't anyone ever find it?"

"Sure—we did, didn't we? And someone else did, too, a very long time ago. But that's a long story."

"Never stopped you before."

"All right, then." He rubbed his hands together. "Where to start? The TARDIS locked onto the beacon without too much difficulty, though I did have to boost the receptors a bit. I patched the signal to the screwdriver and used that to track it down. Found it three and a half kilometres from here, out in the bog. Nasty place, that is. Got mud all over my coat, dunno if it'll ever come clean."

As he began to tell his story, Rose moved with him to the bench.

"The signal came from a ship, a very old colony ship. It didn't have a lot of people on board —just a few adults and quite a lot of embryos in cold storage. The ship must've crashed here centuries ago," he said, shaking his head. "Everyone died, of course. But the funny thing is, the embryos were missing from their storage tanks."

"Someone took 'em? But these people don't have the technology for that sort of thing. They have babies the old fashioned way."

The Doctor nodded. "It wasn't them. Actually, it _was_ them—the embryos were the villagers' ancestors. I did a DNA scan on Mrs Morris to be sure. She's a direct descendant."

"But who... I mean, how'd they get born?"

"Good question! I asked myself the same thing. When I started investigating the ship, some people arrived. They didn't want me messing around with their sacred relics, apparently."

"What sort of people?"

"Oh, you've probably seen them, actually. Silver skin, large glowing eyes."

Rose gasped. She had seen someone like that, just once, during the Season. "The overseers?"

"That's right. They felt so bad about the ship crashing on their planet that they took it upon themselves to raise all the babies. The funny thing is, one of the pilots had a couple of books with her: _Pride and Prejudice_ and another all about the history of Regency England. The overseers thought it was a description of the world the colonists came from, so they made a replica of 19th century England and set it down in the bog. They didn't get the measurements right, of course, so the land is half the size of the real England. But they named all the cities properly. Your village? It's called Croydon. But you probably figured that out by now."

"And the people recreate everything from the Book," Rose said, nodding. "S'what the Season is. I figured that much out already. Every year they re-enact the Book... as part of their history. That's the one part I didn't understand—why they did it."

"And they live their lives as close as possible to people from that time period. Amazing, yeah?"

"S'wrong."

"No," he said firmly. "They don't know any better. Their lives are good and full, they're not missing out on anything."

"But shouldn't we tell 'em? Let 'em decide for themselves how to live their lives? Let 'em evolve naturally?"

The Doctor sighed. "I'd rather not. It's complicated, but what good would it do them to know that everything they believe in is just fiction? Sure, most religions are no more real, but this is different. It would throw their civilisation into chaos. They'd start evolving, just as you said. They'd develop technologies, better tools, better weapons. They'd expand to the borders of the land, and then what? They'd grow discontented. They'd start fighting for what little land there is, using those new technologies to kill. I won't do it. And neither will you."

Rose shook her head slowly. "I suppose not. But..."

The Doctor stood and extended his hand, wiggling his fingers. "The real question is: who are you going to sit next to at supper?"

Even though nothing had truly been resolved, Rose felt as though a little part of her that had died was slowly reviving. She slid her hand into the Doctor's and gave him a cheeky grin. "I've two sides, haven't I?"

_(To Be Continued...)  
_

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I've made a slight revision to this chapter—near the end the Doctor tells Rose the name of the village she's been living in. I mention it only because it relates to the title of the story. Originally I called it _"Six Months in Croydon"_ because I thought Croydon was the town that the Doctor accidentally dropped Sarah Jane off at. When a few kind readers pointed out my mistake, I fixed the reference to Aberdeen and Croydon, but since I didn't want to change the title, I had to insert a reason for it to remain the same. Thus, instead of Rose's Croydon being figurative, it's now literal._


	8. Of Running For One's Life

** Chapter Eight –**_**Of Running For One's Life **_

Rose woke to darkness. That in itself made her hold her breath in alarm. The fireplace in her room usually gave off a soft glow even in the middle of the night when only embers remained, and most nights the double moons of this world shone through her window. Now though, she could not see her hand in front of her face. Or _was _ that her hand?

She reached out and nearly screamed when she touched someone else's hand.

"No! Shhh! Quiet, Rose. It's only me."

The Doctor. She might have known.

Irritated, she moved to push the covers back on the bed, only to find the Doctor's overcoat draped across her instead of the soft linen counterpane. Beneath her, she felt a surface much firmer than her feather mattress, as well as a distinct chill seeping through her thin nightgown. The scent of damp earth filled the air. Not her bedroom, then. With a shiver, she pulled the coat back up around her. "What's going on? What's happened?"

"Err, well..." Though she could not see him, she could tell the Doctor had begun to tug on his earlobe, a sure sign of nervousness or uncertainty.

"Where are we, for one? And why's there such a draft up my..."

"That's two, actually." He rustled around a bit, and a moment later, she felt another layer laid across her legs. The Doctor's suit jacket didn't cover much, but it helped, along with the overcoat. "There. Now, as for the first, I believe we're in the root cellar."

"The _what_?"

"Oh, you know. Where they store potatoes, vegetables—that sort of rubbish."

"I _know_ what a root cellar is. What I _don't_ know is why we're down in one. Unless you've gone and done something to turn us into onions." She let just enough doubt into her voice so that he couldn't be sure if she meant it or not. Either way, he didn't dignify her with a response.

He did, however, pull out the sonic screwdriver. A bright white-blue light hit her square in the eyes at the same time that a high-pitched squeal hit her ears. She'd complained about the sound once, and he'd looked at her with surprise. Apparently most adult humans couldn't hear the sonic frequency range that he usually used. Since then, he'd tried to modulate the sound so that it wouldn't agitate her quite so much, but this close, with the darn thing right in her face, it seemed to pierce her eardrums. The light was worse, though, after all the darkness. It made her head throb. She made a face at him, but couldn't be sure he saw.

"Oi! Can't you use a torch like any normal person?"

"If I was trying to have a look around, quite possibly," he answered. The light moved away from her eyes, to her relief. He circled her head with the sonic screwdriver, once all the way round, then focused it on the side of her skull.

"Have got I concussion, then?" Maybe the headache wasn't just from the excruciating sound of the sonic screwdriver aimed at her.

He held the screwdriver at an angle and tried to see the readings. "Looks like, but very mild. Hippocampus appears fine, so you shouldn't have amnesia. Sure you don't remember what happened? And I'll give you one clue—I did_ not_ turn us into onions. Nor cabbage, nor turnips, nor carrots. Good news is, we won't starve down here, anyway."

Rose reached up and gingerly touched the side of her head. She felt a small, tender knot that would undoubtedly sprout a colourful bruise were it not hidden by her hair. At that same moment, her stomach growled.

The Doctor laughed and flicked the screwdriver off. "Well, _you_ might, at this rate. How can you be hungry again? It can't be past midnight, yet."

"Didn't eat much dinner. You were too busy giving Christopher the evil eye to notice."

"I did no such thing! I behaved with decorum and civility the entire time," he replied with a huff.

Rose laughed. "Did you? Then why's your shin sore?"

"My what?" In the dark, he reached down to rub the front of his leg just below his knee. "Ow! I've got a bruise there. Wonder how that happened."

"Don't you remember?" she asked sweetly. "I kicked you during dessert."

"Ooh, now _dessert_ I do recall. That was some excellent pudding, really excellent. Remind me to get their recipe before we leave."

"It doesn't look like we're going anywhere." She leaned back against the cellar wall, and then she remembered. "Oh! I was getting ready for bed. Someone came in, and I thought it had to be you."

"Why me?" he interrupted.

"Christopher knocks. And he doesn't come in once he knows I've gotten undressed."

"No? The two of you don't... I mean, you've never..."

"That is_ so_ none of your business. You're not even allowed to _think_ about that sort of thing!"

He didn't answer for a long minute. Then, "You hang around me in your pyjamas all the time."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"We're mates," she said. "At least, we were. Best mates."

"You and Christopher, you're not?"

Rose sighed. "S'different here. People don't... Men and women, s'not like that for 'em. We get along, I don't mean that we don't. We've a lot in common. More than you'd think, considering our different backgrounds. We can talk for hours and he's got a brill sense of humour. S'just... more formal. We don't hang about half dressed, laughing and carousing and teasing each other. It'd be indecent. Can't even hold hands, or hug, or kiss in public, not without causing an uproar."

"And you're happy with that?" He sounded appalled.

"It's better than living alone in a cottage somewhere, the potty old lady with a hundred cats. Or giant tame squirrels in this case—they don't seem to have anything like our cats." She shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "What did you expect me to do, sit on the front steps waiting for you until I died of old age, lonely and miserable? I did wait, you know. I waited five and a half hours, and five and a half days. Then, I waited five and a half weeks, and five and a half months. You never came back. What was I supposed to do then? Sit around and wait five and a half_ years_? I saw what that did to Sarah Jane. Is that what you want me to do?"

She could hear the Doctor's breaths in the dark space, each one filled with regret. "I'd never want that for you, Rose. You shouldn't care that much, not for me. I'm not that important. You... you deserve to have every bit of happiness you can manage to wrangle from this lousy universe." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice seemed lighter. "Your calculations were wrong, you know. Close, but just a bit off."

"How d'you mean?"

"Six months, you said. But it's not been that long. You were about thirty minutes a day off."

"You sure? No, never mind. Of course you're sure, or you wouldn't be telling me. I've never been that good at maths. So, go on. How long's it really been?"

In the dark, the Doctor's hand reached for hers. "Five and half months. To the day."

-oo-O-oo-

After Rose had cried the tears she'd sworn she'd never cry again, she sat with her head against the Doctor's shoulder and said, "Never do that to me again."

"Never," he promised. "I'll always take you with me, even if it's just to move the TARDIS down the road. How's your head?"

She felt the spot where the bruise had been, but thanks to the sonic screwdriver the swelling had disappeared and it didn't hurt to her probing touch. "Better."

"Good. Now, I think you ought to finish telling me what you remember about what happened." He shifted to try and cushion her a bit more from the hard, cold ground and pulled his coat around her shoulders. "Go on. You said someone came into your room?"

"Yeah. I thought it was you, so I said something rude. I heard somebody laugh and that's when I started to turn around. But they cracked me over the head. Next thing I know, here we are. What about you?"

"Me? I was downstairs talking to Mrs Morris, trying to give her a plausible enough story so that she'd stop looking at me like I'd killed her favourite pet. I think I'd just about had her convinced, when a couple of people came in the front door—her niece and nephew-in-law, Jane and William. They said something to Mrs Morris in private, something that had her wringing her hands and looking quite nervous when she came back into the parlour. Mr Walker said that I had to come with them, that you and I were under arrest, that they would hold us until the constable could take us into custody. When I tried to protest, they said that they already had you and that if I didn't come quietly, they'd hurt you. They threw me in here, and tossed you in a minute later."

Rose frowned in the darkness. "I wonder what they think we've done?"

"No idea. But I expect we'll find out soon enough."

"What about the door? Can't you get us out of here?"

"Already tried," the Doctor admitted. "The lock is on the other side of a very solid wood door. The sonic screwdriver won't penetrate. We'll just have to wait until someone comes and lets us out. Won't be long, I'm sure. Come here, try to get some rest."

Rose laid her head on the Doctor's chest and the sounds of his double heartbeat soon lulled her to sleep.

-oo-O-oo-

As it turned out, they weren't let out for quite some time. Much to their annoyance, the Doctor and Rose stayed locked up in the root cellar the entire night and and a good deal of the next day. Finally, they heard footsteps and the sounds of someone unlocking the door. Rose sat up and tried to straighten her hair. The Doctor took back his pinstriped jacket, and she slipped his overcoat on over her nightgown.

The sudden glare of afternoon sunlight blinded them both.

"Out! Both of you," demanded a deep voice.

"Lady Rose! Are you all right? Have they hurt you?" Mrs Morris nudged the constable aside and helped Rose up out of the cellar. She stumbled up the stairs and over the threshold, and when she stepped out into the yard, the loose gravel bit into her bare feet. Even in the sunlight she felt cold, after a night in such frigid air, so she tugged the overcoat closed around her and valiantly tried not to shiver.

"Oh, your nightdress is ruined," Mrs Morris wailed, "And you're positively blue with cold! I begged them to wait until morning, truly I did, but they wouldn't listen—said you were a danger to the community. Imagine! I asked what sort of danger could you possibly be, Lady Rose, since you've lived among us for so long and never caused a bit of trouble? But, of course, no one would listen to me."

The Doctor left Rose in Mrs Morris' arms and squinted at of the constable, a thickset man in a blue uniform. "What is this about? We've done no harm to anyone."

"The charges will be read at the courthouse," came the gruff reply.

"What charges? I demand to know what this is about."

The constable said nothing, but shoved the Doctor toward a horse-drawn cart.

"It's lies, all of it," Mrs Morris said loudly, as she was forcibly led away from the prisoners.

The constable allowed the Doctor to help Rose up into the back of the cart. She sank onto the pile of hay and shifted around to get comfortable. A moment later, the Doctor sat beside her.

"Could be worse," he said. "At least we're not tied up."

"Worse? They could be dismantling the TARDIS to see how the 'horseless carriage' works, and then you'd know what s'like to be stuck here for six months without the one thing that keeps you going." But before the Doctor could reply to that, Rose shook her head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're supposed to forget once you've forgiven, not keep bringing it up again."

The Doctor put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him to ease some of the jostling when the cart started moving. "That mean you've forgiven me?"

"That's what all that crying was for."

"Ah. Good to know," he said. "I'm rubbish at that sort of thing."

"This is your fault, you know."

"What'd I do?"

"I don't know," she answered, "But I'm willing to bet s'all your fault, somehow."

He hugged her the entire length of the short drive into the centre of the village. It probably _was _his fault, just as it was his fault for leaving her here for so long. He should have double checked the coordinates before returning. No, he should have curbed his curiosity and waited for her to get up so they could've investigated together.

"Rose, I have a confession to make," he said suddenly, just before the cart pulled up to the meeting hall, a large brick building that served for any public function. "Remember when I took you home, the very first time?"

How could she forget? "You said it'd only been twelve hours, even though we'd spent a couple of days together. Mum slapped you because it'd really been a whole year. She thought you'd taken me away and done unspeakable things to me in your spaceship."

"Yes, well, give me time."

Rose blinked.

"Get out," demanded the constable, standing beside the back end of the cart.

"What I mean to say," the Doctor continued, his cheeks turning an interesting shade of pink as he jumped down, "Is that when that happened, I told you it was an accident. That I'd made a mistake."

"Wasn't it?" She let the Doctor put his hands around her waist and lift her down off the cart. Once on the ground, she slid her hand into his as if she'd never stopped doing it.

He ran a hand through his hair and scratched just behind one ear. "Not exactly, no."

"What d'you mean, not exactly? Was it or wasn't it?" Around them, the villagers gathered, muttering and murmuring amongst themselves. Most of them just seemed curious, but several had dark, angry looks on their faces. If people she knew and trusted could turn against her so quickly, what chance did they have? Still, with the Doctor beside her, everything would be fine.

"Well..." In the late morning sunlight, the Doctor looked sheepish. "It wasn't my fault, honestly, but the fact that we landed twelve months late _was _deliberate. The TARDIS read my thoughts and felt she was doing me a favour. I needed you with me. She knew that, and she also knew that if you returned home and found everything just as you'd left it, you might find it too easy to slip back into your old routine. So, she made a slight adjustment to the temporal coordinates, changed twelve hours to twelve months, and _voilà_! Posters of you all over the estate and a mum who hates me."

"My mum thought I was _dead_, you git!"

"Exactly. Nothing left for you in London except a mother who desperately wants you to stay. And what teenager does just what their mum wants, hm? Bit of reverse psychology."

Rose didn't know whether to thump him on the arm or hug him. "You owe my mum some flowers. Maybe even some of those nice chocolates from Venus."

"Ooh, those were good, yeah? Remind me and we'll pick up a couple boxes on our way back to Earth. I suppose I owe you one as well, don't I?"

Inside the meeting hall, the heat of a hundred people made it stuffy and warm. Rose swapped coats with the Doctor, putting the shorter pinstriped jacket on over her nightgown instead of the heavier overcoat. He neatly folded the overcoat and draped it across one arm just as the constable pushed them to the front of the crowd.

Christopher elbowed others out of the way in order to come to her side. "Rose, are you all right? Have they hurt you?"

"They locked us in the root cellar all night and where were you?" She glared at him.

"I didn't know! Not until this morning, when I came down for breakfast. I tried, but they wouldn't let anyone near you. I suppose they thought Mother and I would help you escape."

"And where d'you think we'd run off to, anyway?" the Doctor interrupted. "The country's big enough to search from north to south in a couple of days."

"There are those who say your magic carriage can carry you across the bog to the land of the overseers."

The Doctor looked intrigued. "You know about them?"

"Only a child knows nothing of our history, Doctor."

"Yes, but... oh, never mind. Let's get this over with, shall we?" He cleared his throat and raised his voice to a level that would have everyone paying attention. "I demand to know why the Lady Rose and I have been treated in such a manner! Why have we been detained without food and water, locked in a root cellar for eighteen hours, and now brought here under restraint? Of what are we accused?"

A man in a dark coat stood forth. Normally the cobbler, he also stood in as the village judge when necessary. When faced with the Doctor's natural authority, he forgot that the accused should not be allowed to ask questions. "I apologize for your treatment, sir. No one knew that you had been arrested until this morning and we convened as quickly as possible. You, Doctor, have not been charged with any wrongdoing. You are free to go, if you desire. It is the Lady Rose who must remain in custody."

"I'm not going anywhere without Rose." His hand tightened around hers, so small among the folds of his jacket. "What is it you say she's done?"

"The charge is impersonation," the cobbler-judge said. "The penalty is death."

Rose made a small noise. The Doctor squeezed her hand to reassure her and to caution her to let him do the talking.

"This doesn't make any sense! I've known Rose for a long time—long before she came here—and she's never pretended to be anything other than exactly what she is."

"I agree," shouted Christopher. "The Lady has done nothing wrong."

The judge shook his head. "On the contrary, if the charges are true, then she has especially wronged you, Mr Morris."

"Explain," demanded the Doctor.

"There are those who believe that the young woman in question is not of the gentry at all, that she in fact has never even been to London, and has no right to bear the title of Lady."

The crowd burst into loud chatter. A few shouted agreement, but most seemed confused by the accusation.

The Doctor felt a cold rush. This _was _his fault. He'd told Mrs Morris that Rose was actually Lady Rose of London, just to explain why he'd given her the better bedroom. But if he admitted that, they would kill Rose, and perhaps him as well for his part in it. He tried to clear his thoughts. Rose needed him.

"Who makes the accusation?" asked Christopher. "What sort of coward has said this about the Lady?"

The judge made eye contact with someone in the crowd. "Come forward. It is our way that the accused face their accuser."

William Walker angled his way to the clearing, pulling his wife by one hand. "We make the accusation. We do not believe that this woman is Lady Rose of London, if such a person even exists."

"I was _born _in London," Rose shouted.

"And she was knighted alongside me, more than a year ago," added the Doctor.

"Prove it!"

"How? All of our possessions were lost when our carriage overturned in the bog when we first arrived in this village, nine months ago. There's no way to prove what I say! But I ask you this: has Rose done anything improper during her stay here? Has she done anything that would indicate she is _not _a lady?" The Doctor turned to face the crowd, knowing their best shot would be to get the people on their side. "Has she hurt anyone? Has she tried to steal anyone's money or possessions? Has she acted indecently?"

The people murmured, mostly in the negative.

Rose adjusted the coat to be certain it covered her modestly. Then she stepped up to face William. "I know why you're saying this. You think I want your wife's role as Elizabeth from the Book. You think I'm a threat to her position and rank within this village. But I'm not. And neither was Davinia."

Those close enough to hear gasped. Mrs Morris put one hand over her mouth and stared at both of them with wide eyes.

"What is it you are saying, Lady Rose?" asked the judge.

Rose took a deep breath. The Doctor's hand wrapped around hers to lend support; her heart pounded at her own audacity. But she knew she was right, and so she continued, "This man will do anything to ensure his wife's position during the Season. He wants her to be Elizabeth, and he's willing to throw false accusations and even to kill to keep it that way. I've overheard 'em talking, I've heard 'em planning. Ask him about the carriage accident five years ago! Everyone thinks he mourned Davinia and married Jane because he could find no one else." Rose paused and turned to Jane. "I'm sorry, but it's true. We see how he treats you. He doesn't love you."

Tears spilled out of Jane's eyes. "It is true. He doesn't. He married me because he knew I would be Elizabeth if anything happened to Davinia. When she died... he asked me the very next day."

William slapped her across the face, and the crowd went into an uproar.

-oo-O-oo-

The Doctor pulled Rose off to one side. They stood for a moment beneath a flickering lamp. The faint scent of natural gas reminded Rose of the first time he'd taken her back in time, when the Gelth had tried to come through the Cardiff Rift. It seemed such a very long time ago. How young she'd been back then, how innocent of the ways of the universe. She almost wished for that naive innocence again, but couldn't bring herself to wish it all away. The extraordinary things they'd done since then—the unique and wonderful people they'd met, the amazing places they'd been to, the evil they'd fought, the hope they'd restored—all of it had shaped her into the woman she'd become.

"There," the Doctor said, pointing to a side exit. He gripped her hand and pushed his way into the mass of near-rioting people.

"Lady Rose," Christopher said, catching up to them, "Is what you've said true? Was it William who caused my sister's death?"

Rose looked at him with sympathy. "When I first heard 'em talking, I didn't know who they were. But I heard 'em another time in the parlour and recognized their voices. He planned the whole thing just to get ahead. I don't think Jane wanted to go along with it, though."

"No, I would imagine not. She has always been a good woman, if a bit bitter from his influence." He shook his head. "Even so, the accusation against you has been made. Without your possessions, how will you prove who you are?"

"She shouldn't have to," the Doctor said, a defiant glint in his eyes.

"No. But they will insist. They might write to London, if necessary, but they will find out." His gaze met hers, filled with regret. "I think perhaps you'd best not be here when they do."

Rose let go of the Doctor's hand in order to hug Christopher. "I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear. The scent of mint and cloves brought a pang of sorrow and tears to her eyes. "I _am _a Lady. But I'll never be able to prove it here."

He closed his eyes and held her close. When he let go, it was with a sigh. "I would fight for you, my lady. If necessary, I would die to keep you safe."

"So would I," said the Doctor, slipping his hand into Rose's. "But sometimes it's better to avoid the situation altogether rather than to fight."

Christopher nodded. His eyes shone with just a hint of grief as he looked at Rose. "I always knew your heart belonged to your Doctor. I had hoped... But never mind. What's done is done. It is no longer safe here for you, my lady. The Doctor's return is fortuitous—you must go and I will not see you again."

"Come with us," the Doctor offered quietly.

But Christopher shook his head. "I am not as adventurous as our dear Rose. A journey to London is as good as it gets for me, and I have the feeling that you will go much farther than that. It is meant to be." He met Rose's gaze. "I only hope that the Doctor will treat you as I would have—as you deserve to be."

The Doctor held his free hand out and Christopher shook it. "You're a good man, Mr Morris. You'll let your mother know what's happened?"

"I suspect she already knew. Before we left to follow you here, she packed some of your things, Lady Rose. They're on your bed, if you have time to retrieve them. You'd best be going now, before the assembly recalls why they convened in the first place. I—I shall miss you."

She rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you, too."

"Take care of her, Doctor."

The Doctor put his arm around Rose. "That I will always do."

Rose looked into Christopher's blue eyes for the last time. And then she heard the Doctor say softly, "Run."

_(To Be Concluded...)_


	9. Of Fire and Ice

**Chapter Nine – _Of Fire and Ice_**

By the time they reached the cottage, Rose's feet were bruised and bleeding. But they made it in good time, with no one following them.

At the TARDIS, she stopped. After catching her breath, she said, "I have to get a few things from inside."

"Hurry, then. I don't know when they'll be coming after us, but it'll be soon."

She nodded and walked as quickly as her abused feet would allow. She barely glanced at the rooms of the house she'd lived in for half a year. The stairs felt cool against her bruised feet. Every creak they made caused her to glance over her shoulder, but she was alone in the house.

Her room. Lace and silk, polished wood and silver. The canopy bed, the looking glass. The gauze curtains and wool rugs. She would miss this, just a little.

She pulled off the ruined nightdress and slipped on the full-length petticoat that she had sewn with Mrs Morris' help. She didn't want to take anything that didn't belong to her, but they had made the petticoat together. The tidy pile on the bed contained a spare dress, so she put that on, as well as the shoes that sat on the floor. They fit her feet exactly, made by the cobbler just for her. The other things she left on the bed. Nothing else belonged to her.

In the bottom drawer of the desk, she found the rolled up pillowcase that held her trainers, her bra, and her TARDIS key. Letting out a deep breath, Rose slipped the key around her neck. The chain fit the curves of her neck and the key itself fell between her breasts. It belonged there.

"Rose! Hurry up!"

She glanced out the window to see the Doctor standing in the doorway of the TARDIS. He looked worried. With a final glance around the room, she left it all behind.

-oo-O-oo-

Once inside the TARDIS, Rose felt a wave of sadness. "I feel sorry for Mrs Morris. She did so much for me. She treated me like a daughter; never once complained that I'd been left on her doorstep with nothing. And now we're leaving without even saying goodbye."

"She knew you'd have to go. Remember, she packed those things for you? An intuitive woman," the Doctor said. He looked thoughtful. "Hang on a tic."

He vanished into the recesses of the TARDIS. Rose sat on the jump seat, letting the quiet thrum of the TARDIS welcome her home. When the Doctor returned, he startled her with a loud, "Ha!"

She looked at the box he held. "What's that?"

"A gift for Mrs Morris." He handed it to Rose.

With a soft exclamation, she ran her fingers over the contents—a complete set of Jane Austen's literary works, along with an autobiography, bound in coloured leather with gold lettering. "It's beautiful. She'll love it! But... won't this change history for 'em? Finding out the woman who wrote their precious Book wrote so many others?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Could be it'll divide them into sects, or start a war. Or, it might enhance their love for Jane Austen, knowing she did so much more than just _Pride and Prejudice_. Or, could be that Mrs Morris, being a wise woman, will keep the books hidden away as a treasured family heirloom, passed down through the generations, always kept a secret. Go on, leave them somewhere she'll find them when she gets home, but be quick about it. There'll be an armed mob coming over that hill in less than two minutes."

Rose ran back into the house, breathless and limping. She placed the gift on top of the wooden box that held the family's copy of the Book. Mrs Morris would find it this evening when she did the daily reading. It would have to be enough to show Rose's appreciation.

Meanwhile, she could hear the Doctor calling her from the TARDIS. All of Time and Space waited for her. She ran, heeding the call.

-oo-O-oo-

After putting the TARDIS into temporal orbit, the Doctor took Rose to the infirmary. He lifted her up onto the table, tucked her long skirts up around her knees, and then pulled her shoes off one at a time. With cool, gentle fingers, he examined her feet.

Rose's cheeks darkened at his touch and she shivered. It had been ages since a man had seen her bare feet, much less touched them. She couldn't help but feel a little scandalous. With her tongue in the corner of her mouth, she grinned. "Bit of a liberty you're taking, innit?"

"Hmm? Oh." He glanced up, his hands stilling at her ankles. "This all right? I forgot you've been living under different standards."

"Equivalent of flashing a human, isn't that what you said?" She couldn't resist teasing him, delighted at the way his skin flushed beneath his freckles.

"Well, I don't know about that," he drawled. He cleared his throat and winked. "But I'd say I've gone and compromised your virtue at the very least. Good thing your mum's not around to slap me, yeah? Now, let's see what you've done to these vestal appendages."

Rose winced a bit as his fingers grazed the bottom of her foot. She must have a hundred splinters, not to mention blisters and gashes from the rocks and hard earth she'd run over. "So, what's the verdict, Doctor?"

He frowned over the injuries but looked up at her with a confidant face. "Just a few cuts and bruises, nothing we can't fix."

"And what about us? Are we okay?" she asked, leaning back as he held a device above her foot. A bright green light scanned her skin and slowly erased the bruises. A change of clothes and a visit to the chemist and she'd be as good as new, but would their relationship mend as easily? And could they go back to being best mates—_just _best mates—now that he knew she loved him?

The Doctor sighed. He ran the dermal regenerator over her other foot and then sat on the rolling stool and crossed his arms. "You gave up on me. You thought that I left you there, abandoned you."

"But you didn't. It was an accident. I know that."

"Do you?" He looked into her eyes and Rose realized that she still felt the tiniest sliver of doubt. She broke the gaze, turning her head away.

"Rose, I promised that I would never leave you behind. But there may come a day when we're separated, whether by fate or disaster or time itself. And if that happens, I promise you that I will do _everything _in my power to get back to you. I'll do that, Rose, but I want you to do just what you did here—make friends, have relationships, fit in. Don't waste your life waiting on me. I'm not worth it."

"You are!"

He leaned forward and put two fingers on her lips. "I'm not. You are brilliant. You don't deserve to live just half a life."

"I can't help how I feel, Doctor. So what if I'd said yes to Christopher? It wouldn't have changed anything. That whole time—even when I was spitting mad at you, or so hurt that I thought I must be bleeding inside, or feeling lost and helpless—all the while I kept wishing you'd just come back for me. That's all that mattered, seeing you again." She looked down at her bare feet, now healed and freshly pink.

"Rose... oh, Rose." He spoke softly and touched her cheek with the palm of his hand. "I never wanted to put you in this situation."

"My own fault, falling for a Time Lord instead of an ordinary bloke. I should've known better. I should've remembered you're an alien. Would've saved myself a broken heart."

"I _am _an alien," he said with a sigh. His hand dropped to his side. "One cursed with extraordinary long life. Rose, if I told you that I loved you, if we became a couple... it would be_ fantastic_, so _very _fantastic! But you're twenty years old. Twenty! I'm almost a _thousand_. In the cosmic blink of an eye, your life would be over—you'd grow old and die. Your children would grow old, and _their _children. Our relationship would be like a shooting star, or... or one of those holiday sparklers: bright and beautiful—and gone in a matter of seconds."

"S'that why you invited Christopher along with us?"

"You care for him. He obviously loves you, not that I blame him."

"Yeah, but I don't love _him_." Rose shook her head. "D'you really want to watch me being with someone else? S'that what you want?"

"Of course that's not what I..." He stopped, his voice deep and rough. "I want you to be happy, Rose. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Happy. But not with you? Because I'll wither and die and you'll be by yourself again."

Tears filled his eyes but didn't spill over. His voice lowered so that she barely heard him say, "You'll be gone, and I'll still be here, just as I am now. Only even more alone."

Rose swallowed, finding tears of her own. With one hand, she reached out and touched the Doctor's face. "Curse of the Time Lords you called it."

"That's right." He stood and turned away from her.

"But I don't think that's the curse. Doctor, if you love someone and you're with 'em—no matter how long—it makes you a better person. I think..." She bit her lip, uncertain if she ought to continue. "I think the real curse is not wanting to take that chance, always afraid to let someone love you, worried that you'll be hurt, and left alone again. _That's _the tragedy. _That's _the curse of the Time Lords—being afraid to love!"

For a long moment, Rose thought she'd gone too far. The Doctor stood with his back to her, unmoving. She smoothed her petticoat down and slid off the table. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

The Doctor's shoulders began to shake just a little, and she worried that she'd actually made him cry by mentioning the Time Lords. But when he turned to face her, the Doctor had a smile on his face. He was... laughing.

"Rose Tyler. You are amazing. Have I told you that?"

"Um..." She furrowed her eyebrows with confusion.

"Do you know what the Time Lords were like? You never met any, besides me—and I don't count, what with being a renegade and all." He pushed the stool away and moved to stand right in front of her. His eyes sparkled and his hands moved as he spoke with an animated voice. "Time Lords were a bunch of pretentious, grandiose xenophobes. They didn't have babies the old fashioned way—too much left to chance that way, besides being decidedly vulgar. Marriages were for convenience, strengthening bloodlines and political ties. Nobody dared to love. And what did it get them? Where are the great and mighty Time Lords now? Extinct! _That's _where they are now. Gone forever, with no one left who cares enough to visit their grave."

Rose shook her head, not understanding. "But there's you, Doctor. They're not all gone, not so long as you're around."

"Exactly!" And he grinned. "C'mon!"

He lifted her up enthusiastically. Rose tried not to shriek as he spun around in a circle with her in his arms. She clung to him, breathless and dizzy. "What are you doing...?"

"Hm? Oh, I thought it was obvious," he said, carrying her out into the corridor.

"I'm a stupid ape, remember? What's obvious?"

"You're not a stupid ape, not if you can accurately describe the Time Lords and sum up several thousand years of Gallifreyan tradition after only having met _me_, the lonely renegade and outcast." He laughed and spun around again. "You're bloody brilliant, Rose Tyler, that's what you are."

She couldn't help but catch his giddy mood. She smiled as they navigated the hallways of the TARDIS. "And what've I done that's so brilliant?"

"You, my dearest Rose, have outwitted the last of the Time Lords. And that's not half clever." He stopped outside a door that she hadn't seen before and jostled her a bit as he opened it.

The room proved to be a bedroom, one that saw far more studying and mechanical tinkering than sleeping, judging by the untidy piles of books, star charts, and metal bits and bobs. Typical bedroom of any bloke, really, except that it didn't have any dirty clothes strewn about, like she might've expected. But then, the Doctor didn't wear much of a variety, so there wouldn't be many of his clothes around.

The bed in the centre of the room caught her by surprise. Tall and imposing, it took up half the room and captured all the attention. She couldn't tell what it was made from—something not quite metal, not quite wood, which seemed both dull and gleaming by turns. It had four posts that curved up from the corners and entwined overhead so that they seemed almost alive rather than something cast or carved. A brown silk duvet covered the mattress, and several grey and navy pillows lie scattered about the head of the bed.

"The last me had this all done up with black and other dark colours, but the brown suits me better, don't you think?" he said, carefully setting her down on the edge of the bed.

"Still dark," she pointed out, leaning over and snatching one of the pillows. The navy had a subtle grey pinstripe to it, not unlike the Doctor's suit. She hugged it, smelling honey and lemons. It reminded her of both Doctors and she wondered if it was left over from before his regeneration.

"That can change," he said in reply to her comment. "That _will _change. I'm seeing a lot of pink in my future."

"I don't get it. Why bring me here?"

He sat beside her and drew her hands away from the pillow to hold them in his own. He whispered her name and met her eyes with his. Rose found that she couldn't look away but seemed to be drawn into the mahogany depths. She heard her name again, but it seemed to have come from somewhere within his eyes. When she broke the gaze, her eyes dropped down to the Doctor's lips, so thin and yet so inviting. What would they feel like against her skin? She glanced back up and saw a hint of a smile in his expression, otherwise quite serious. Her heart began to pound. She felt light-headed and somehow, _somehow _knew that the Doctor wanted to kiss her.

And then he did.

She closed her eyes and felt the coolest touch against her lips, soft and so much colder than a human's body temperature. What did she feel like to him?

An image of flames entered her mind, and herself, naked but not burning... glowing with a radiant, beautiful heat.

Is that how he saw her?

"Yes," he whispered, breaking the kiss so that he could caress her jaw with his lips. Every so often his tongue darted out, an icy touch against her skin. "Your skin is like fire and silk—a candle flame and I'm the moth who can't stay away even if I get burnt. You've no idea how long I've wanted this—wanted you. Burn with me, Rose... We'll blaze across the universe, you and I."

Rose shivered, hardly able to breathe. She leaned into his embrace, one hand winding through his hair. He paused his devastating exploration of her neck in order to sigh with delight as she massaged his scalp. For the moment she felt grateful, since her mind refused to think clearly when his lips attached themselves to her sensitive skin. She wanted this—had wanted for ages—and yet so many doubts crowded into her mind, competing with each other.

"Doctor," she murmured, not knowing what to say or do.

"Yes, this is real," he answered softly, focusing on one particular spot on her neck that nearly made her shudder with pleasure. "Yes, this is what I want. And yes, just imagine what I could do elsewhere."

With a gasp, Rose pulled away, feeling like a bucket of water had been thrown on her. "You're inside my head, you git!"

He blinked several times, obviously pulling himself together. From his expression, he'd felt the same bucket of water. "Right. Forgot you didn't like that."

"You've never done that before. Only the TARDIS."

"That's because it isn't something to be done lightly. I don't go around reading people's minds for fun," he reminded her. "I didn't know it would happen when we kissed, to be honest. They didn't exactly teach Gallifreyan sex education at the Prydonian Academy. Not on a world where a husband and wife each donate genetic material, and babies are created by scientists and machines. All this, with the kissing and making love—it's a bit new to me. Would've been illegal on Gallifrey, but seeing as how I'm the last of the Time Lords, I suppose I'm entitled to change the rules."

Rose stared at him. There's no way he could mean what she thought he meant. She pointed an accusing finger. "Hold on, you've kissed before! I know you have. You told anyone who would listen that Madame de Pompadour snogged you!"

"That... that was different." He ran one hand through his hair and then rubbed the back of his neck. "For one thing, _she _kissed _me_, not the other way round. For another, it was immediately following a mind probe. Any sort of telepathic contact then might've just been aftershocks from the probe, for all I knew. Aside from that, I've never kissed anyone else."

He took in Rose's disbelieving look. "Well... I say no one else, but there was _you_—that time on New Earth while you were possessed by Cassandra. But I imagine the psychograft process would've inhibited any telepathic leakage on your end, and as for me... well, I was too busy trying to figure out why you were kissing me with such enthusiasm! Other than that..." He paused and looked thoughtful as he scanned his memories to make sure. "Oh, right. There was Grace, wasn't there? But that doesn't count—I was suffering from amnesia. But that's all. No one else! That all right?"

For some reason, Rose felt sad. She reached out to run her finger along the Doctor's bottom lip. "Missed out on a lot, you did."

"I don't think so. Not when you're the only one I've ever _wanted _to kiss." He drew the tip of her finger into his mouth and did something that belied his claim to be new to all of this. With the intriguing contact, she could feel the ghost of his thoughts again, including a vague impression of the many unspeakable things he wanted to do to her without her mum finding out. The smouldering love and raw sensuality nearly overwhelmed her.

"Yeah, but..." She shivered and tried to keep her thoughts straight. "I've kissed before. I've... been with other guys. Not a lot," she quickly said, "But a couple."

"I know."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

He stopped sucking on her finger and looked her in the eyes again. "Rose, I may not know a lot about this sort of thing, but given what we felt with just one—single—kiss—" he punctuated the last three words with a brush of his lips to hers and then met her gaze again, "—I think this is going to be beyond anything you've ever shared with Jimmy Stones or Mickey Smith. In fact, I think it's going to be beyond anything either of us ever imagined."

"Awfully sure of yourself," she teased, as he pulled her onto the bed.

"I've the right to be. After all—" He made quick work of the dozens of buttons down her dress. As he pushed the dress down off her shoulders and then tugged the sleeves down her arms, his fingers grazed her skin. It stood all the hairs of her arms on end and sent a violent shiver down her back. It also filled her stomach with a warm tingling, which spread through her body when the Time Lord stared at her with eyes darkened by longing. "—I've done what no one else could."

In nothing but her petticoat, Rose looked up at the Doctor. "What's that, then?"

"Won the heart of Rose Marion Tyler. A lady, and a woman, equal to being a Time Lord's wife." His voice brightened. "You will be my wife, won't you? I'd hate to break one rule without breaking another—might as well make my forbidden human lover my mate while we're at it."

Without giving her the chance to react, the Doctor kissed Rose again, long and full. Then, while she caught her breath, he slipped out of his pinstriped jacket and unbuttoned the shirt beneath. "We'll forego the three day ceremony, of course. I never saw the need. In fact, we could just say our own vows and be done with it, right here. It'd be legal in... oh, at least a dozen galaxies and a couple of smaller systems."

He started to lean down to her again, but she stopped him with her fingers against her lips. He settled for kissing them instead while Rose gathered her thoughts.

"This telepathy thing. S'there gonna be more of it? You gonna be in my head again?" she asked.

"That all right?"

"Yeah," she murmured as he nuzzled his way up her bare arm.

"It might get more intense. No way of knowing."

She thought about that as she moved her hand up the Doctor's back. His skin felt deliciously cool beneath her touch. He jerked slightly when she found his mole but grinned in response and bit down on her ear lobe. She gasped. What had they been talking about? Oh, right... "You'll see my thoughts?"

"And you'll see mine. Might even be permanent," he answered, brushing aside her hair. "And by the way, let's stop at a salon before going home. I don't want to have to explain to your mum why you've gone brunette."

"Doctor?" Her voice quavered.

"Hmm?" He found a spot on her collarbone that tingled when he grazed it with tongue.

"No talking about Mum on our honeymoon night, yeah?"

He grinned. And then found himself very, very busy.

_(fin)_


End file.
